THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 

OF  CALIFORNIA 

RIVERSIDE 


LEARNING  AND  LIVING 

ACADEMIC  ESSAYS^ 


BY 


EPHRAIM    EMERTON 

WINN    PROFESSOR   OF   ECCLESIASTICAL   HISTORY 

IN    HARVARD   UNIVERSITY 

(EMERITUS') 


CAMBRIDGE 
HARVARD  UNIVERSITY  PRESS 

LONDON:  HUMPHREY  MILFORD 
OXFORD  UNIVERSITY  PRESS 

1921 


COPYRIGHT,  1921 
HARVARD  UNIVERSITY  PRESS 


TO 

CHARLES  WILLIAM  ELIOT 

IN  GRATITUDE  FOR 

HIS   LIFE-LONG   DEFENSE  OF  THE   RIGHT 

MOST  PRECIOUS  TO  EVERY  SCHOLAR 

THE  RIGHT  TO  DIFFER 


vi  PREFATORY  NOTE 

for  reaching  it;  the  folly  of  educational  tricks  and 
short-cuts;  finally,  the  justification  of  all  educational 
effort  by  its  bearing  upon  the  associated  life  of  men. 
In  the  continuous  interrelation  of  Learning  and  Living 
lies  the  hope  of  the  Republic. 

E.  E. 

CAMBRIDGE,  MASSACHUSETTS 
June,  1921 


CONTENTS 

PAGE 

I.  THE  ACADEMIC  LIFE 3 

II.   WHAT  TO  DO  WITH  A  BOY? 45 

III.  THE  DISCIPLINE  OF  A  UNIVERSITY  COLLEGE  85 

IV.  GENTLEMAN  AND  SCHOLAR 131 

V.  THE  CHOICE  OF  STUDIES  IN  COLLEGE    .    .    .  145 

VI.  TRAVEL  AS  EDUCATION 197 

VII.  THE  ACADEMIC  STUDY  OF  HISTORY     ....   233 

VIII.  THE  RATIONAL  EDUCATION  OF  THE  MODERN 

MINISTER 269 

IX.  THE    PLACE    OF    HISTORY    IN    THEOLOGICAL 

STUDY 309 


vii 


THE  ACADEMIC  LIFE 

I  CANNOT  claim  any  qualification  for  speaking  of 
the  academic  life  except  that  I  have  lived  it  and 
loved  it  and  believed  in  it  during  a  working  lifetime. 
I  have  passed  through  all  its  varied  experiences  of 
preparation,  candidacy,  probation,  recognition,  pro- 
motion and  finally  of  honorable  retirement.  I  have 
shared  in  its  drudgery,  have  felt  its  temptations,  been 
thrilled  with  its  enthusiasms,  perceived  its  limitations 
and  enjoyed  its  modest  rewards.  I  have  borne  my 
share  in  the  obvious  criticisms  to  which  the  academic 
person  is  always  subject,  but  have  never  for  a  moment 
doubted  that,  after  all  allowance  has  been  made  for  such 
adverse  comment,  enough  is  left  to  make  this  kind  of 
life  worth  living.  More,  I  think,  than  most  careers  that 
of  the  university  man  involves  a  continual  adjustment 
of  the  claims  of  the  individual  and  of  the  society  in 
which  he  forms  a  part.  These  claims  are  always  in  ap- 
parent conflict.  As  our  universities  are  at  present  con- 
stituted the  two  pursuits  of  scholarship  and  teaching 
are  necessarily  combined,  not  only  in  the  institution 
itself  but  also  in  the  life  of  the  individual  member. 
The  university  is  both  a  society  for  the  advancement 
of  science  in  its  manifold  activities  and  a  school  for 
teaching.  So  the  academic  person  is  at  once  an  inves- 
tigator in  the  peculiar  field  he  tries  to  make  his  own 
and  also  a  teacher  of  youth. 

This  persistent  dualism  has  not  failed  to  attract  the 
attention  of  all  observers,  and  numerous  attempts  have 


4  LEARNING  AND  LIVING 

been  made  to  resolve  it.  Such  attempts  have  assumed 
as  a  matter  of  course  that  it  is  in  itself  an  evil.  Schemes 
to  get  rid  of  it  appear  as  solutions  of  a  problem  that  has 
impeded  true  progress  in  both  science  and  education. 
Certain  catch-words  have  come  to  indicate  the  line 
of  reform:  "endowment  of  research,"  "research  pro- 
fessorships," "relief  from  teaching,"  all  alluring 
phrases  pointing  toward  an  academic  millennium. 
There  is  probably  no  university  man  who  has  not  at 
times  felt  deeply  the  strain  of  this  double  duty,  and 
yet,  with  all  the  arguments  in  mind,  I  doubt  whether 
on  the  whole  the  dualism  is  quite  the  evil  thing  it  ap- 
pears. The  reform  measures  I  have  referred  to  have 
affected  sometimes  the  learned  society,  sometimes  the 
individual  scholar.  Separate  institutions  have  been 
founded  with  the  deliberate  purpose  of  fostering  the 
scientific  spirit  through  unlimited  practice  of  investi- 
gation and  publication.  It  would  be  rash  to  say  that 
such  institutions  have  actually  fallen  behind  their  dual- 
ist compeers  in  the  amount  and  value  of  their  contri- 
butions to  science;  but  so  far  the  scholarly  standards 
of  our  best  administered  older  universities  have  not 
been  lowered  in  view  of  this  competition. 

Other  reforms  have  touched  the  individual.  There 
have  been  endowments  for  the  maintenance  of  re- 
search or  for  securing  time  to  the  teaching  professor 
for  the  publication  of  his  results.  "Sabbatical  years" 
have  made  possible  many  productive  activities  that 
otherwise  would  have  been  indefinitely  postponed.  All 
these  have  helped,  but  they  have  not  yet  gone  so  far 
as  to  draw  the  line  sharply  and  permanently  between 


THE  ACADEMIC  LIFE  5 

the  teaching  and  the  learning  sides  of  the  scholar's 
work. 

Another  device  has  been  employed,  perhaps  with 
greater  success.  It  is  one  of  the  commonplaces  of  aca- 
demic comment  that  equally  valuable  university  men 
may  be  distinguished  by  wide  diversity  of  gifts.  One 
is  obviously,  as  we  say,  "a  born  teacher,"  another 
seems  specially  qualified  for  the  work  of  investigation, 
while  a  third  takes  his  peculiar  satisfaction  in  the  prob- 
lems of  administration.  The  solution  of  the  whole 
matter,  therefore,  would  seem  to  lie  in  the  widest  pos- 
sible differentiation  among  these  several  functions. 
Let  the  teacher  teach,  the  investigator  study  and  write 
books,  and  the  executive  person  run  the  machine. 
Each,  it  is  supposed,  would  be  happier  doing  the  thing 
for  which  he  is  by  nature  best  fitted,  and,  because  he 
is  happier  his  work  will  be  the  better  done,  and  the 
university  as  a  whole  will  be  the  gainer. 

This  argument  is  attractive,  but  I  do  not  find  it  con- 
vincing. It  proves  a  little  too  much.  The  life  of  the 
university  is  not  like  that  of  a  manufactory  where  the 
accomplished  product  is  the  result  of  so  many  separate 
contributory  processes.  The  three  functions  I  have 
named  cannot  be  separated  from  each  other  without 
detriment  to  the  product.  Freedom  from  class-room 
routine  is  a  very  alluring  prospect  to  the  eager  scholar; 
but  that  very  freedom  brings  with  it  its  special  dan- 
gers of  introspection,  of  over  anxiety  in  detail,  of  hesi- 
tation to  form  conclusions,  which  are  the  snare  of  the 
student  temperament.  It  is  a  wholesome  thing  for  such 
a  mind  to  be  compelled  at  frequent  intervals  to  give 


6  LEARNING  AND  LIVING 

out  what  it  has  been  taking  in,  to  restate  its  results  so 
that  they  can  be  understood  by  unprepared  minds,  to 
get  out  of  the  receptive  and  into  the  outgiving  attitude. 
The  ultimate  product  in  the  printed  book  will  be  so 
much  the  more  widely  appealing. 

And  the  same  thing  in  the  reverse  sense  is  true  of  the 
specially  gifted  teacher.  His  work  as  teacher  cannot  be 
of  the  best  unless  it  be  continually  fed  at  the  source 
by  wide  and  serious  study.  A  colleague  of  mine,  speak- 
ing of  a  certain  schoolmaster,  said  with  a  sad  smile:  "I 
suppose  he  has  learned  his  lessons  for  the  rest  of  his 
life."  As  he  said  it  he  was  thinking  grimly  of  the  long 
vista  of  weary  days  and  nights  that  stretched  out  be- 
fore himself  as  he  looked  ahead  over  the  years  of  pro- 
fessional activity  before  him.  Such  a  man  loves  the 
work  of  teaching.  He  feels  its  stimulus  in  the  rest  of  his 
academic  service,  but  he  knows,  certainly  after  some 
experience,  that  it  would  be  fatal  to  his  success  here  if 
he  were  to  be  cut  off  by  any  kind  of  university  restric- 
tion from  the  continuous  pursuit  of  his  own  private 
and  personal  scholarly  interests. 

These  same  considerations  have  still  greater  force 
when  we  come  to  the  administrative  side  of  the  aca- 
demic profession.  "So-and-So  likes  to  run  things;  let 
him  run  them !  So  much  the  more  time  for  me  to  give 
to  my  laboratory  or  my  library  or  my  classes."  Such  is 
the  not  infrequent  comment  of  the  zealous  scholar  or 
teacher  on  the  vexed  question  of  the  distribution  of 
university  work.  "College  work  seems  to  me  rather 
more  important  than  college  business"  said  an  elder 
colleague  of  mine  a  good  many  years  ago.  His  thesis 


THE  ACADEMIC  LIFE  7 

was  unanswerable  in  that  form,  but  the  result  in  his 
case  was  sadly  instructive  for  our  present  purpose.  In 
pursuance  of  his  doctrine  he  withdrew  himself  com- 
pletely from  the  discussions  of  the  Faculty,  which  in 
just  those  years  dealt  with  the  most  important  prob- 
lems of  university  policy.  Instead  of  making  his  own 
contribution  to  these  discussions  and  keeping  himself 
informed  on  the  gradual  movement  of  thought  within 
the  university  he  put  himself  into  the  attitude  of  crit- 
icism toward  those  of  his  colleagues  who  felt  that  their 
duty  and  their  interest  as  well  called  for  their  steady 
and  active  participation  in  the  monotonous,  often 
dreary  and  seemingly  unprofitable  debates  by  which 
the  course  of  things  was  after  all  determined.  He  got 
what  he  thought  he  wanted,  exemption  from  the  dis- 
tractions of  "college  business,"  but  in  the  end  "college 
work,"  even  his  own  work,  suffered  thereby  instead  of 
gaining. 

The  moral  of  this  is  that  the  scholars  and  teachers  of 
the  university  cannot  look  with  complacency  on  the 
development  of  a  separate  class  of  university  admin- 
istrators, and  this  for  two  reasons:  they  need  a  certain 
experience  of  this  kind  for  their  own  sakes,  and  if 
they  try  to  escape  it  they  are  sure  to  find  themselves 
caught  in  the  toils  of  a  separated  administrative  sys- 
tem that  will  block  them  in  their  highest  endeavors. 
There  is  no  greater  danger  before  the  university  world 
to-day  than  precisely  this.  The  portentous  growth  of 
our  larger  institutions  has  seemed  to  demand  ever  more 
and  more  administrative  activity,  and  the  smaller  have 
thought  they  must  follow  in  the  same  road.  A  col- 


8  LEARNING  AND  LIVING 

league  of  mine  burst  out  in  the  midst  of  a  debate  on  the 
details  of  college  discipline:  "What  we  need  is  to  en- 
large the  Dean's  office.  One  dean  is  not  enough.  We 
ought  to  have  three  or  four  of  them!"  There  were 
others  who  thought  that  the  Dean's  office  administered 
as  it  was  with  a  fatal  zeal  and  fidelity  and  self-sacrifice, 
was  precisely  the  evil  that  needed  remedy,  not  by  in- 
creasing it,  but  by  lopping  off  the  greater  part  of  its 
functions.  Needless  to  remark  that  their  views  did  not 
prevail;  for  administrative  machinery  grows  by  what 
it  feeds  upon.  In  the  university,  as  in  the  nation,  the 
executive  is  in  danger  of  crowding  the  other  elements 
of  the  community  into  a  willing  obscurity  and  inactiv- 
ity. Administrative  standards  are  bound  to  be  on  a 
lower  level  than  those  of  the  really  important  workers; 
standardization,  uniformity,  bookkeeping  regularity, 
a  semblance  of  discipline  without  its  reality,  quick  and 
obvious  results,  these  are  the  ideals  sure  to  appeal  to 
the  administrative  mind.  These  are  the  things  easily 
understood  by  the  "university  public"  upon  which  the 
institution  has  to  rely  for  its  material  support.  And 
yet  these  are  just  the  things  against  which  the  true 
scholar  and  wise  teacher  has  to  struggle  with  all  his 
might  if  his  work  is  not  to  slip  constantly  backward  and 
downward  toward  the  level  of  the  things  that  are  seen 
and  away  further  and  further  from  the  "  things  that  are 
not  seen." 

This  is  a  large  and  weighty  subject  worthy  of  treat- 
ment by  itself.  I  have  touched  upon  it  here  only  to 
show  its  relation  to  our  definition  of  the  academic  life 
as  inevitably  a  complex  one.  The  youth  who  looks  for- 


THE  ACADEMIC  LIFE  9 

ward  to  this  career  cannot  too  thoughtfully  consider 
this  aspect  of  it.  He  will  have  to  make  up  his  mind  that 
he  cannot  be  merely  either  a  scholar  or  a  teacher  or  a 
man  of  affairs,  but  must  be  prepared  to  distribute  his 
energies  over  all  three  of  these  activities.  In  what  pro- 
portion, will  depend  upon  circumstances;  the  point 
now  is  that  any  one  of  these  functions  will  suffer  if  the 
others  are  too  far  neglected.  The  individual  will  suffer, 
and  the  institution  will  in  so  far  be  less  well  served. 
The  rational  policy  of  a  university  government  would 
seem  to  be  to  draw  a  just  line  of  division  between  the 
diversities  of  gifts  on  the  one  hand  and  the  demand 
upon  all  its  servants  to  give  as  they  can  of  their  services 
in  each  of  the  several  fields  of  academic  usefulness  on 
the  other.  For  the  man  who  is  merely  a  teacher  or 
merely  a  scholar  or  merely  a  good  office  head  there  is 
no  permanently  useful  place  in  a  university. 

The  academic  profession  in  America  is  compara- 
tively a  new  one.  Less  than  two  generations  ago  a 
young  American  of  scholarly  tastes  considering  what 
he  should  do  with  his  life  had  before  him  hardly  more 
range  than  a  choice  among  the  three  so-called  learned 
professions,  the  law,  medicine,  and  the  Christian  min- 
istry. If  his  tastes  excluded  medicine  and  inclined 
rather  to  the  practical  sides  of  life  he  was  led  naturally 
into  the  law,  not  because  he  cared  specially  about  law, 
but  because  it  might  eventually  give  him  some  oppor- 
tunity to  carry  out  the  more  purely  scholarly  ambitions 
which,  after  all,  were  the  real  guiding  motive  of  his 
choice.  If,  on  the  other  hand,  after  eliminating  med- 
icine he  still  found  himself  unattracted  by  the  sterner 


io  LEARNING  AND  LIVING 

conflicts  of  affairs  he  might  find  refuge  in  the  ministry 
of  religion  as  promising  him  in  the  long  run  the  largest 
share  in  the  purely  intellectual  life.  At  that  time  it 
probably  seldom  occurred  to  a  youth  of  parts  to  aim 
definitely  and  from  the  beginning  at  the  university 
career  as  a  life  work. 

The  teaching  profession,  as  a  profession,  had  then 
hardly  come  into  existence.  Teachers  were  mainly  ac- 
cidents, drawn  or  driven  or  drifting  into  their  work 
through  failure  or  necessity  or  inertia.  The  line  be- 
tween the  teacher  in  a  school  or  in  a  college  was  not 
sharply  drawn,  and  men  passed  from  the  lower  to  the 
higher  grade  without  violent  change  of  quality  or  intel- 
lectual outlook.  Our  young  man  standing  in  the  valley 
of  decision,  if  the  thought  of  the  academic  career  oc- 
curred to  him  at  all,  may  have  dreamed  about  it  as  of 
something  immeasurably  beyond  him  to  which  he 
might  conceivably  be  called  by  some  mysterious  proc- 
ess, but  not  as  a  legitimate  object  of  his  own  exertions. 
He  liked  to  think  of  his  professors  as  men  of  monstrous 
learning,  though  it  must  be  confessed  that  the  methods 
of  instruction  of  that  time  tended  more  to  conceal  than 
to  display  whatever  equipment  they  may  have  had. 
That  they  had  ever  been  much  younger  than  they  were, 
or  less  the  autocrats  of  their  world  of  knowledge,  he 
could  scarcely  believe. 

As  to  the  younger  instructors,  the  suggestion  of  an 
open  profession  of  learning  could  hardly  come  with  any 
greater  weight  from  them.  They  were  largely  exper- 
iments, temporary  makeshifts  taken  out  of  one  or  an- 
other professional  school  and  utilizing  their  teaching 


THE  ACADEMIC  LIFE  u 

appointments  only  as  helps  toward  their  ultimate  aims, 
furthering  their  own  ends  at  the  expense  of  the  luckless 
youth  intrusted  to  their  ignorance  and  indifference. 
Only  here  and  there  did  he  encounter  among  these 
younger  men  one  and  another  actuated  by  the  true 
scholar's  purpose,  perhaps  already  trained  in  some 
foreign  school  or  gifted  with  the  insight  that  led  him 
straight  toward  the  academic  goal.  From  some  such 
pioneer  the  young  man  may  have  received  suggestion 
and  encouragement  to  follow  his  higher  leadings  and 
make  a  way  for  himself  into  the  kind  of  life  that,  how- 
ever vaguely,  appealed  to  the  best  there  was  in  him. 
Seen  through  the  veil  of  mystery  that  beclouded  it,  the 
professor's  life  may  have  seemed  to  him  the  most  at- 
tractive of  all  lives,  but  how  to  reach  it  was  still  to  him 
a  perplexing  puzzle. 

All  this  was  quite  natural,  for,  if  it  is  true  that  there 
was  no  recognized  profession  of  teaching,  still  less  could 
it  be  said  that  there  was  a  recognized  career  for  the 
"liberally"  educated  scholar.  Obviously  there  could 
be  no  easily  perceived  way  to  a  non-existent  profession. 
The  case  of  Henry  Adams,  recently  described  by  him- 
self in  his  "Education,"  is  a  typical  one.  A  man  of 
thirty-two,  untrained  in  any  regular  fashion  for  the 
work  of  teaching  or  of  historical  investigation,  living  at 
the  time  in  England  as  private  secretary  to  the  Ameri- 
can Minister  he  was  suddenly  invited  to  take  the  posi- 
tion of  an  Assistant  Professor  of  History  in  Harvard 
College.  To  his  protest  that  he  knew  little  history  and 
least  of  all  in  the  period  he  was  expected  to  teach,  the 
far-seeing  President  replied  that  if  he  would  name  any 


12  LEARNING  AND  LIVING 

one  better  prepared  he  would  appoint  him.  The  plain 
fact  was  that  there  were  no  technically  prepared  men 
ready  to  take  up  the  work  of  teaching  history  in 
America. 

What  was  true  of  history  was  pretty  nearly  true  of 
other  subjects.  A  contemporary  of  mine,  a  brilliant 
classical  scholar  while  in  college,  finding  himself  in 
Europe  a  year  after  graduation  with  the  world  before 
him,  conceived  the  unusual  idea  of  becoming  a  well- 
fitted  college  teacher.  He  had  a  modest  income  which 
made  some  years  of  study  possible,  but  he  was  propos- 
ing to  earn  his  way  in  the  world.  He  wrote  to  the  great 
college  he  had  recently  left  stating  his  case.  He  was 
willing  to  follow  any  course  of  study  and  submit  to  any 
tests  the  college  might  prescribe.  All  he  asked  was  a 
reasonable  certainty  that  upon  the  satisfactory  com- 
pletion of  such  a  course  the  college  would  give  him  a 
chance  to  try  his  hand.  Unaccountably  to  him  his  let- 
ters remained  unanswered,  and,  after  waiting  a  reason- 
able time,  he  threw  himself  heart  and  soul  into  the 
study  of  the  law.  Several  years  later,  just  after  he  had 
begun  a  successful  practice  in  a  distant  city,  quite  sud- 
denly, without  a  word  of  warning,  he  received  from  his 
alma  mater  the  offer  of  a  classical  tutorship.  Of  course 
it  was  too  late,  and  a  man  of  real  genius  was  lost  to 
scholarship  and  to  the  academic  life  because  as  yet 
there  was  no  well-marked  road  leading  thither. 

To-day  the  whole  situation  is  in  this  respect  pretty 
radically  changed.  A  young  man  of  this  type  would 
now  be  singled  out  from  an  early  stage  of  his  studies  as 
a  prize  for  whom  in  a  few  years  universities  would  be 


THE  ACADEMIC  LIFE  13 

competing.  There  is  to-day  in  America  a  well-defined 
academic  profession.  The  roads  leading  up  to  it  are 
almost  too  clearly  marked,  and  yet  it  may  be  doubted 
whether  there  is  any  other  profession,  unless  it  be  that 
of  the  stage,  about  which  the  intelligent  public  knows 
so  little.  The  real  life  of  the  professor,  like  that  of  the 
actor,  is  lived  behind  a  curtain  and  is  revealed  to  the 
public  only  by  occasional  glimpses  at  moments  of 
special  readiness  for  exhibition.  The  processes  of  his 
work  are  wholly  concealed.  He  works  at  different  times 
and  in  different  places  from  those  affected  by  other 
workmen.  He  is  seldom  seen  abroad  except  at  his  play 
times,  and  his  public  appearances  as  an  expert  are 
limited  to  audiences  interested  for  the  moment  in  his 
special  field  of  learning.  His  own  particular  college 
community  knows  him  hardly  more  intimately.  To  his 
students  he  is  a  more  or  less  mysterious  being  who,  at 
stated  intervals  during  the  week,  emerges  from  his  ob- 
scurity and  imparts  to  them  something  of  the  results  of 
his  habitual  seclusion.  Their  scraps  of  tradition  about 
his  personality  and  his  history  are  more  often  than  not 
grotesquely  inaccurate. 

True,  the  professor  of  to-day  is  in  these  matters 
somewhat  more  happily  placed  than  his  predecessors 
of  two  generations  ago.  He  is,  or  at  all  events  likes  to 
fancy  himself,  more  of  a  man  of  the  world.  He  is  a 
more  movable  person.  He  stands  in  closer  relation 
with  his  professional  colleagues  all  over  the  world.  He 
goes  to  frequent  gatherings  of  men  of  his  own  kind  and 
thus  gains  a  more  just  measure  of  himself  and  his  sur- 
roundings. He  is  more  apt  to  feel  that  he  owes  certain 


i4  LEARNING  AND  LIVING 

duties  to  the  community  at  large  and  lends  himself 
more  readily  to  this  or  that  form  of  public  service.  But 
after  all  allowance  has  been  made  for  this  change  of 
attitude,  the  hard  fact  remains  that  all  these  things 
have  to  be  treated  as  so  many  interruptions  to  the 
regular  business  of  his  life.  If  he  allows  them  to  fill  too 
large  a  space,  this  real  business,  namely  his  teaching 
and  the  study  that  supports  it  and  supplies  the  sources 
of  his  contribution  to  the  world's  learning,  will  suffer 
in  proportion. 

I  have  dwelt  thus  upon  the  seclusion  of  the  academic 
life  because  this  is  one  of  the  first  things  which  our 
young  man  looking  forward  to  it  ought  carefully  to 
consider.  It  makes  one  of  the  charms,  but  it  forms  also 
one  of  the  chief  limitations  of  the  university  career. 
The  young  scholar,  conscious  of  power  and  eager,  as  he 
should  be,  to  make  it  felt  in  the  world  has  his  visions  of 
what  learning  can  do  among  men.  Perhaps  he  thinks, 
albeit  unconsciously,  of  the  university  as  the  medium 
between  himself  and  a  waiting  world.  He  will  use  the 
university  as  his  stalking  horse  to  capture  fame  and 
opportunity.  "When  I  began  my  work"  said  a  col- 
league after  a  quarter  of  a  century  in  the  service,  "I 
used  to  see  before  me  my  Complete  Works  in  thirty- 
seven  volumes  octavo  standing  in  beautiful  order  on 
the  library  shelf.  And  now!"  He  had  done  a  man's 
work,  and  the  volume  of  his  publication  was  respect- 
able, but  that  fair  vision  of  a  waiting  world  had  re- 
solved itself  into  the  full  sight  of  a  world  that  could 
still  afford  to  wait. 

I  would  be  the  last  person  to  dim  by  any  shadow  of 


THE  ACADEMIC  LIFE  15 

experience  the  splendor  of  youthful  vision,  but  if  any 
beginner  starts  with  the  idea  that  he  can  use  the  uni- 
versity for  his  own  ends,  he  is  on  a  false  trail.  There  is 
a  far  greater  chance  that  the  university  will  use  him 
and  will  do  it  so  effectually  that  there  will  be  little  of 
him  left  for  other  service.  The  law  is  proverbially  a 
jealous  mistress,  and  though  the  university  profession 
in  America  is  hardly  old  enough  to  have  a  set  of  prov- 
erbs of  its  own,  it  can  without  hesitation  apply  to  itself 
the  claim  of  the  law  to  the  undivided  allegiance  of  its 
votaries.  It  is  true  that  a  healthful  interchange  be- 
tween the  university  and  the  active  world  outside 
sometimes  takes  place  to  the  great  advantage  of  both. 
The  university  occasionally  draws  its  teachers  from  the 
professions  and  sometimes,  though  more  rarely,  the 
professions  are  enriched  by  the  transfer  to  them  of  men 
who  have  gained  their  early  strength  in  the  more  the- 
oretical school  of  the  university.  At  present  mobility 
seems  to  be  one  of  the  characteristics  of  the  academic 
person.  We  hear  much  of  "university  extension  "  "ex- 
change of  professors,"  "utilizing  the  plant"  and  other 
devices  whereby  the  ingrowing  tendencies  of  the  uni- 
versity body  may  be  checked  and  its  influence  in  the 
larger  community  be  increased.  All  that  is  well  if  due 
limits  be  observed.  What  we  have  to  guard  against  is 
that  wider  usefulness  may  not  become  distraction,  that 
the  call  to  new  activity  may  not  become  a  sign  of  mere 
restlessness.  In  so  far  as  this  is  the  case  the  regular, 
solid  movement  of  academic  life  will  be  interrupted,  its 
true  foundations  of  quiet  study  and  productive  reflec- 
tion will  be  weakened  and  the  long  result  will  be  dimin- 


16  LEARNING  AND  LIVING 

ished.  With  the  greater  development  of  the  university 
career  as  a  profession  by  itself  the  process  of  inter- 
change between  the  university  and  "the  world"  is  not 
likely  to  be  greatly  extended.  Young  men  will  go  into 
this  new  profession  in  the  hope  of  promotion  as  the 
natural  reward  of  success,  and  if  they  are  to  see  their 
way  to  promotion  barred  by  the  introduction  of  men  of 
larger  reputation  who  have  climbed  up  by  some  other 
way,  they  are  going  to  think  several  times  before  they 
incur  the  risk. 

A  few  years  ago  the  academic  community  was  not  a 
little  stirred  by  the  discussion  of  the  advisability  of 
establishing  "prize  professorships"  with  salaries  ap- 
proximating the  incomes  of  highly  successful  business 
or  professional  men  and  to  be  filled  by  drawing  into  the 
service  of  the  university  men  who  had  already  "ar- 
rived" in  their  several  fields  of  action.  It  was  interest- 
ing to  note  that  in  this  discussion  it  was  not  the  obvious 
financial  difficulty,  but  the  probable  effect  upon  the 
university  profession  that  was  most  dwelt  upon.  It 
was  felt  that  such  exceptional  chairs  would  inevitably 
become  rather  decorations  than  positive  forces  and 
that  their  establishment  could  act  only  as  discourage- 
ments to  modest  effort  within  the  university  limits. 
Rather,  it  was  said,  let  the  university  do  all  in  its 
power  to  develop  in  its  own  carefully  selected  mem- 
bers the  kind  of  eminence  in  science  that  seeks  and 
finds  its  best  reward  in  the  obscure  but  precious  rec- 
ognitions of  those  best  qualified  to  judge. 

The  candidate  for  university  honors  must  make  up 
his  mind  from  the  start  that  he  is  entering  on  a  career 


THE  ACADEMIC  LIFE  17 

that  will  claim  all  there  is  of  him  and  that  this  claim 
will  not  relax  as  years  go  on,  but  will  rather  increase  in 
intensity  and  in  variety  of  forms.  That  is  his  first  sac- 
rifice, to  give  up  once  for  all  the  kind  of  ambition 
which  looks  forward  to  making  a  great  place  in  the 
world.  His  life  is  to  be  mainly  a  life  of  seclusion,  filled 
chiefly  with  a  more  or  less  monotonous  routine  and 
giving  him  only  now  and  then  points  of  contact  with 
other  interests.  Again,  he  must  be  prepared  to  sac- 
rifice every  prospect  of  worldly  advantage.  As  things 
go  now  he  can  hardly  look  for  permanent  employment 
much  before  the  age  of  thirty,  and  he  is  fortunate  if  at 
that  time  his  salary  is  two  thousand  dollars.  At  some 
point  between  forty  and  fifty  he  may  reach  a  per- 
manent position  with  an  income  of  from  three  to  six 
thousand,  but  beyond  this  he  is  not  likely  to  go.  Wife 
and  children  under  these  circumstances  are  obviously 
something  to  be  postponed  to  an  age  well  beyond  the 
normal.  And  yet  nothing  ought  to  commend  an  other- 
wise promising  young  man  to  permanent  employment 
in  the  academic  world  than  precisely  the  fact  that  he 
has  given  his  hostages  to  fortune  early  and  wisely. 

The  figures  just  given  will  vary,  of  course,  with  place 
and  grade  of  standing,  but  they  are  fairly  indicative  of 
what  the  young  man  thoroughly  trained  by  years  of 
expensive  preparation  may  reasonably  expect.  They 
represent  doubtless  the  average  appreciation  of  learn- 
ing on  the  part  of  the  great  American  public.  They 
mean  sacrifice  of  many  kinds,  but  they  do  not  mean 
poverty.  They  place  the  university  man,  so  far  as 
money  is  concerned,  below  the  average  moderately 


18  LEARNING  AND  LIVING 

successful  tradesman  or  industrial  manager  or  profes- 
sional practitioner.  On  the  whole  they  compare  pretty 
well  with  the  figures  in  other  countries,  and  since  the 
noble  foundation  of  Andrew  Carnegie,  this  comparison 
is  still  more  favorable  to  America.  Still  the  cold  fact 
remains  that  our  academic  population,  in  so  far  as  it 
depends  upon  its  salaries,  is  living  always  on  the  verge 
of  distress  if  any  misfortune  befall  the  wage-earner 
of  the  family.  To  make  such  provision  for  the  future 
as  will  enable  him  and  the  rest  to  meet  old  age  with 
approximately  the  same  resources  as  they  have  en- 
joyed during  his  active  years  involves  continual  sac- 
rifice of  a  kind  which  inevitably  reacts  upon  the  value 
of  the  work  on  which  the  whole  establishment  de- 
pends. It  means  inconvenient  lodging  with  perhaps  no 
suitable  working  place  for  the  worker  of  the  family.  It 
means  a  diminished  table  with  consequent  depression 
of  working  power.  It  means  lack  of  books,  the  tools  of 
the  worker's  trade.  It  means  denial  of  recreation,  the 
necessary  condition  of  successful  work.  It  means  often 
a  kind  of  social  deprivation  especially  wearing  to  a  sen- 
sitive nature.  Finally,  and  worst  of  all,  it  means  the 
acceptance  of  "extra  work,"  that  insidious  allurement, 
that  "one  thing  more"  which  the  man  always  thinks  he 
can  do,  but  which  crowds  him  just  so  much  closer  to  the 
wall  —  the  private  pupil,  the  course  in  a  secondary 
school,  or,  latest  and  most  fatal  product  of  the  educa- 
tional machine,  the  Summer  School. 

This  is  no  plea  for  the  maintenance  of  a  privileged 
class  of  scholars.  Access  to  the  scholar's  life  should  be 
difficult,  and  progress  in  it  should  be  determined  solely 


THE  ACADEMIC  LIFE  19 

by  the  tests  of  personal  fitness;  but  it  is  well  that  our 
public  should  understand  what  chances  of  satisfaction 
in  life  it  is  offering  to  men  from  whom  it  demands  the 
highest  service  of  character  and  laborious  devotion  to 
an  exacting  ideal.  It  is  doubtless  true  that  the  public 
can  always  count  upon  a  certain  supply  of  academic 
material,  for  the  scholar's  life  has  its  own  attraction 
sure  always  to  outweigh  many  material  considerations. 
The  question  is  how  far  the  public  can  afford  to  specu- 
late in  the  scholar's  readiness  to  take  chances.  It  can- 
not in  the  long  run  be  satisfied  with  men  in  academic 
positions  who  make  positively  low  demands  upon  life. 
It  ought  to  expect  them  to  seek  suitable  mates  at  a 
reasonably  early  age,  to  live  easily  and  in  a  civilized 
manner.  The  home  of  the  academic  man  ought  to  be  a 
center  of  light  to  the  youth  who  are  privileged  to  enter 
it.  The  public  owes  it  to  itself  to  see  to  it  that  its  uni- 
versity service  be  well  done,  and  it  cannot  be  well  done 
by  men  who  are  under  the  continual  stress  of  personal 
anxiety. 

It  is,  of  course,  impossible  here  to  name  any  exact 
standards,  but  it  is  not  extravagant  to  ask  that  the 
position  in  life  of  the  academic  man  be  not  made 
greatly  inferior  to  that  of  the  picked  men  among  law- 
yers and  physicians.  Somewhat  inferior  it  is  sure  to  be, 
for  it  would  be  a  millennial  conception  to  place  the  in- 
terests of  men's  minds  or  souls  upon  as  high  a  level  as 
the  interests  of  their  bodies  or  of  their  pockets.  But, 
taking  into  account  the  element  of  comparative  secur- 
ity essential  to  scholarly  success,  the  standard  I  have 
suggested  can  hardly  seem  unreasonably  high.  In  a 


20  LEARNING  AND  LIVING 

community,  for  example,  where  a  fairly  successful 
lawyer  or  physician  at  the  age  of  forty-five  would  be 
earning  ten  thousand  a  year,  it  can  hardly  seem  too 
much  to  ask  that  the  university  professor  who  has 
stood  all  the  tests  should  expect  about  six  thousand. 
This  maximum  should  ordinarily  be  reached  by  stages 
long  enough  to  give  ample  guarantee  of  satisfaction, 
and  governing  boards  should  not  be  held  to  have  com- 
mitted themselves  to  further  advance  by  any  action 
during  the  earlier  stages. 

The  ways  to  permanent  appointment  at  maximum 
pay  should  be  kept  as  difficult  as  they  are  at  present, 
and  the  candidate  for  promotion  should  be  made  to 
feel  that  his  fate  is  in  his  own  hands.  The  question  how 
far  the  probationary  stage  should  be  extended  is  a  se- 
rious one.  In  a  recent  conversation  with  a  newly  ap- 
pointed member  of  the  corporation  of  an  important 
university  we  discussed  the  advisability  of  adding  one 
more  stage  to  the  already  existing  normal  steps  of  ap- 
proach to  the  full  professorship.  He  enlarged  upon  the 
beneficial  moral  effect  of  long  probation.  "In  a  very 
true  sense"  he  said  "we  are  all  on  probation  as  long  as 
we  live.  It  is  a  wholesome  thing  to  feel  that  we  are 
under  inspection  and  responsible  to  some  superior 
power  for  the  best  exercise  of  our  faculties.  To  remove 
that  sense  of  responsibility  would  be  to  slacken  the 
tension  of  our  working  machinery  and  lead  gradually 
to  less  efficient  service."  I  admitted  fully  the  force  of 
these  general  propositions,  but  ventured  to  warn  my 
friend  of  certain  limits  to  them.  I  reminded  him  that 
the  university  service  is  not  like  that  of  the  business 


THE  ACADEMIC  LIFE  21 

houses  with  which  he  was  familiar.  The  professor  is 
not  the  employe  of  a  superior  individual  or  corporation. 
The  controlling  corporation  is  not  an  employer,  but  a 
trustee  bound  by  the  nature  of  his  trust  to  procure  ex- 
pert service  of  which  he  is  only  imperfectly  capable  of 
judging.  The  professor  on  his  side  serves,  not  the  cor- 
poration but  the  cause  of  learning  and  education.  He 
is  a  partner  with  the  corporation  in  this  larger  service. 
His  pay  comes,  not  from  the  corporation  but  partly 
from  the  students  and  partly  from  endowments  which 
again  are  not  the  property  of  the  corporation  but  of  the 
community  at  large  which  through  its  lawful  agencies 
entrusts  them  to  the  corporation  for  the  purposes  of 
their  foundation. 

This  peculiar  quality  of  the  university  service  has 
certain  consequences.  "You  and  I,"  said  a  colleague 
with  whom  I  was  discussing,  as  professors  will,  certain 
frailties  of  the  executive  branch,  "can  stand  a  good 
deal  of  this  sort  of  thing  because  we  love  the  place." 
Our  loyalty,  tried  and  proved  in  many  an  encounter 
was,  we  believed,  proof  against  almost  any  strain.  But 
how  about  the  loyalty  of  men  without  these  ties  of  af- 
fection and  these  memories  of  storm  and  stress  ?  Can 
they  be  counted  upon  for  unselfish  service  at  critical 
moments?  Will  they  withstand  the  temptation  of 
higher  offers  from  other  institutions?  Will  they  bear 
patiently  what  they  feel  to  be  encroachments  upon 
their  rights  as  members  of  the  university  family? 
Upon  the  answer  to  these  questions  must  depend  very 
greatly  the  whole  problem  of  university  morale.  The 
creation  throughout  the  whole  working  staff  of  this 


22  LEARNING  AND  LIVING 

spirit  of  loyalty  is  one  of  the  most  important  —  I  had 
almost  said,  the  most  important  object  of  university 
policy.  Without  it  the  movement  of  the  academic  life 
is  crippled  and  hampered  at  every  turn.  Mutual  mis- 
understanding and  mistrust  are  sure  to  creep  in  and 
impede  that  harmony  of  effort  which  is  essential  to  a 
successful  administration  of  the  common  trust. 

Now,  what  is  the  bearing  of  all  this  upon  the  ques- 
tion of  prolonged  probation?  It  is  this:  that  nothing 
contributes  more  effectively  to  the  spirit  of  loyalty 
than  the  sense  of  confidence  that  one  is  no  longer  under 
suspicion  of  any  sort  whatever.  Say  what  we  will  about 
the  stimulating  effect  of  a  constant  supervision,  it  is 
infinitely  less  than  the  stimulation  of  confidence.  It  is 
not  merely  the  sense  of  security,  great  as  the  relief  of 
that  is.  It  is  the  spur  of  finding  that  one's  effort  is 
recognized  beyond  all  cavil.  It  is  the  uplifting  sense 
that  one  is  fully  admitted  to  partnership  in  a  great  and 
worthy  undertaking.  Looking  back  over  my  own  ex- 
perience I  find  that  on  twelve  different  occasions  I  was 
made  to  feel  that  my  service  was  acceptable  to  the 
government  of  the  university,  and  as  I  recall  those 
occasions  I  feel  anew  the  glow  of  satisfaction  and  the 
stimulus  to  renewed  effort  that  accompanied  them. 
And  among  these  occasions  one  stands  out  above  all 
the  rest  —  the  moment  when,  quite  without  any  ex- 
pectation of  mine,  I  was  given  the  duties  and  respon- 
sibilities of  permanent  appointment.  It  cannot  have 
been  the  material  advancement,  for  that  was  set  at  an 
irreducible  minimum;  it  was  certainly  no  overpowering 
conviction  of  my  own  value,  for  never  before  or  since 


THE  ACADEMIC  LIFE  23 

was  I  in  a  more  humble  frame  of  mind.  It  was  the 
sense,  almost  greater  than  I  could  bear,  of  loyal  deter- 
mination to  prove  that  so  far  as  depended  upon  me  the 
corporation  had  not  made  a  mistake. 

I  draw  from  that  experience  and  from  long  observa- 
tion of  many  men  the  principle  that  university  gov- 
ernments should  be  concerned  with  the  question,  "how 
short"rather  than  with  the  question, "  how  long"ought 
they  in  a  given  case  to  make  the  period  of  probation. 
Whenever  they  are  satisfied  that,  barring  accidents, 
the  man  is  of  the  kind  they  need,  it  would  generally  be 
wise  policy  to  bind  him  to  their  service  by  giving  him 
the  fullest  possible  share  in  the  responsibilities  of  mem- 
bership in  their  company  of  scholars.  At  present  the 
only  effective  reminder  to  them  of  such  wisdom  is  a 
"call"  elsewhere.  Into  that  painful  subject  I  will  not 
go.  The  ins  and  outs  of  it  are  familiar  to  all  academic 
citizens.  It  may  well  be  maintained  that  the  loss  of  a 
good  man  in  this  way  is  readily  made  up  by  calling  an- 
other equally  good  man  in  his  place,  and  that  such 
interchange  of  services  is  on  the  whole  a  wholesome 
incident  of  our  academic  system.  This  is  all  true,  but 
it  is  not  the  whole  truth.  Back  of  all  these  outward 
considerations  lies  the  appeal  to  that  spirit  of  loyal 
cooperation  among  the  several  elements  of  the  uni- 
versity body  with  which  we  are  here  concerned.  Pro- 
bation is  good;  but  the  deliverance  from  probation  is 
better. 

In  making  the  comparison  between  the  academic 
profession  and  those  of  the  law  and  medicine  I  ven- 
tured to  use  the  expression  "picked  men."  Lest  that 


24  LEARNING  AND  LIVING 

comparison  should  seem  exaggerated  it  is  well  to  re- 
mind ourselves  that  the  modern  professor  is  a  picked 
man  in  a  very  literal  sense.  He  is  picked  first  by  some 
natural  endowment,  in  virtue  of  which  he  may  be  ex- 
pected to  be  more  successful  in  his  chosen  line  of  work 
than  others.  He  is  picked  again  by  a  very  long  and 
very  arduous  process  of  selection,  and  this  process  is 
carried  on  by  experts  who  watch  at  every  step  for  indi- 
cations of  fitness  and  of  unfitness  for  the  career  he  has 
in  view.  As  his  preparation  advances  the  strain  of  this 
constant  inspection  becomes  more  intense.  One  after 
another  the  candidates  fall  out  of  the  race.  The  sur- 
vivors plod  along  through  their  repeated  tests  until 
finally  with  more  or  less  reluctance  their  judges  grant 
them  the  certificate  which  admits  them,  not  to  any 
great  reward,  but  only  to  the  privilege  of  beginning  a 
still  more  arduous  struggle.  If  they  are  fortunate 
enough  to  obtain  temporary  positions  they  are  again 
subjected  to  long  and  expert  observation.  The  com- 
munity sees  the  cases  of  success;  we  on  the  inside  know 
the  story  of  a  long  procession  of  silent  failures,  of 
worthy  men  slipping  quietly  out  of  the  competition 
and  accepting  occupation,  often  more  lucrative,  in 
other  lines.  Comparisons  are  always  dangerous,  and 
one  hears  sometimes  such  as  this:  "Professor  So-and- 
So  may  be  a  very  competent  man,  but  what  kind  of  a 
lawyer  or  doctor  would  he  have  made?"  There  is  only 
one  answer  to  this  kind  of  comparison,  and  that  is: 
"What  kind  of  a  professor  would  your  successful  law- 
yer or  doctor  have  made  ? "  They  have  been  picked  by 
the  process  which  brought  out  their  special  endow- 


THE  ACADEMIC  LIFE  25 

ment.  The  professor  has  been  picked  by  the  process 
suited  to  his  needs.  It  is  fair  that  they  should  all  be 
judged  on  an  equal  scale. 

It  is  a  pleasure  to  record  that  on  the  whole  the  tend- 
ency of  things  academic  is  in  the  direction  of  a  policy  of 
largeness  and  confidence  in  the  treatment  of  the  teach- 
ing staff.  Truth  requires  us,  however,  to  face  the  fact 
that  the  material  rewards  of  scholarship  are  still  not 
such  as  to  weigh  very  heavily  in  the  balance  of  a  young 
man  considering  his  chances  in  life.  As  we  are  ventur- 
ing upon  comparisons  another  distinction  between 
academic  and  other  rewards  may  be  pointed  out.  In 
other  professions  there  is  a  certain  direct  and  obvious 
relation  between  work  done  and  the  return.  The  law- 
yer or  the  physician  undertakes  a  case;  he  expends  so 
much  effort  and  may  claim  so  much  compensation. 
Extra  work  counts  for  extra  pay  in  something  more 
than  direct  proportion;  for  success  here  brings  not  only 
immediate  reward  but  draws  more  and  more  demand 
with  a  steadily  increasing  scale  of  prices  for  specialized 
service.  A  rising  young  city  physician  of  my  acquaint- 
ance was  called  to  visit  a  patient  at  a  summer  resort 
and  was  kept  in  attendance  during  a  long  illness. 
Meanwhile  another  similar  case  presented  itself  in  the 
neighborhood,  and  our  young  man  returned  to  the 
city  with  six  thousand  dollars  in  his  pocket.  The  col- 
lege teacher,  worn  out  as  he  is  almost  sure  to  be  with 
his  year  of  work,  yields  perhaps  to  the  temptation  of 
the  Summer  School,  goes  on  wearing  himself  out  still 
more  and  droops  at  the  end  with  two  or  three  hundred 
dollars  to  his  account. 


26  LEARNING  AND  LIVING 

The  best  work  of  the  scholar  has  no  equivalent  in 
material  things.  The  book  on  which  he  spends  his 
spare  time  and  his  reserves  of  strength  for  years  brings 
him  no  money  return.  The  text-book,  often  most  suc- 
cessful when  it  is  stripped  of  every  scholarly  quality, 
may  prove  an  investment  profitable  in  proportion  to 
the  lowness  of  the  grade  it  reaches.  The  real  contribu- 
tion to  learning,  the  laborious  investigation,  the  long 
self-denial  of  years  bring  no  other  reward  than  the 
sense  of  a  thing  well  done  and  the  precious  approval  of 
the  few  who  can  understand.  I  shall  never  forget  a 
remark  made  to  me  in  the  last  year  of  his  life  by  an 
elder  colleague  the  fragrance  of  whose  life  was  well 
typified  by  the  roses  he  loved:  "  I  have  always  dreamed 
of  having  a  nice  little  place  in  the  country  with  one 
of  those  great  big  Norman  horses  to  drive  back  and 
forth  to  the  station;  but  I  shall  never  have  it  now."  It 
was  a  modest  ambition.  His  life  would  have  been  the 
longer  and  his  work  the  richer  for  its  realization  but 
he  would  not  sacrifice  to  it  one  iota  of  the  precious 
time  and  strength  he  gave  without  stint  to  the  unre- 
warded work  that  has  made  his  name  one  of  the  glories 
of  American  scholarship. 

Every  observer  of  the  academic  life  is  conscious  of 
the  wear  and  tear  of  it,  but  the  explanation  of  this  is 
not  always  so  clearly  perceived.  Study,  we  are  told,  is 
a  very  pleasant  occupation.  The  man  of  affairs  often 
says  in  all  honesty:  "There  is  nothing  I  should  so  much 
enjoy  as  a  chance  to  study.  In  what  little  of  it  I  can 
do  I  find  the  greatest  happiness  of  my  life."  The  presi- 
dent of  a  great  railway  system  said  to  me:  "I  come 


THE  ACADEMIC  LIFE  27 

home  from  a  long  day  full  of  perplexing  problems.  I 
throw  myself  into  an  easy  chair  in  my  library  and  in 
the  pages  of  some  historian  or  in  a  book  of  travel  I  for- 
get that  there  is  a  railroad  in  the  world."  So  study,  it 
would  seem,  is  a  rest  rather  than  a  weariness,  and  the 
life  of  the  professional  student  is  one  prolonged  repose. 
As  to  the  teaching:  we  are  well  accustomed  to  the 
somewhat  pitying  expression  that  comes  over  the  face 
of  our  man  of  affairs  when  he  hears  that  we  are,  as  he 
might  say,  "on  duty"  not  more  than  six  or  eight  or  ten 
hours  a  week  and  that  duty  only  the  telling  over  again 
of  a  story  we  know  so  well  that  we  could  tell  it  in  our 
sleep. 

Well,  study  is  a  pleasant  thing,  but  it  is  a  pleasure  to 
be  compared,  not  to  the  irresponsible  comfort  of  the 
railroad  president  "off  duty"  in  his  evening  chair,  but 
rather  to  the  joy  he  feels  when  he  has  just  made  a  suc- 
cessful "deal"  or  overcome  some  great  engineering 
problem.  Teaching  too  is  a  pleasure,  but,  done  with 
the  whole  man,  it  is  a  pleasure  like  that  of  the  lawyer 
before  a  court,  which  fills  him  for  the  moment  with  a 
glow  of  excitement  but  leaves  him  for  some  time  there- 
after a  nerveless  wreck.  Study  and  teaching  both  make 
exacting  demands  upon  the  scholar's  strength  and 
vitality;  \>ut  this  is  not  the  whole  of  it.  The  real  strain, 
year  in  and  year  out,  comes  from  a  peculiar  cause  less 
urgent  if  not  unknown  in  other  professions,  and,  so  far 
as  I  know,  not  reckoned  with  in  the  numerous  popular 
descriptions  of  academic  life.  I  mean  the  expenditure 
offeree  in  keeping  the  mental  machinery  up  to  working 
pitch.  Much  of  the  work  of  the  world  can  be  done 


28  LEARNING  AND  LIVING 

mechanically,  and  the  more  mechanically  such  work  is 
done  the  better,  because  it  leaves  the  worker  so  much 
the  fresher  for  the  severer  effort.  The  scholar's  work 
cannot  be  done  in  this  way.  If  it  is  not  done  heart  and 
soul,  it  is  not  done  at  all. 

Again  cautious  comparison  may  help  us.  The  law- 
yer, having  finished  one  case  turns  at  once  to  another 
that  is  calling  him.  The  physician  makes  his  daily 
round  in  obedience  to  definite  calls.  The  clergyman 
has  his  weekly  sermon  to  prepare  and  is  besides  sum- 
moned hither  and  yon  by  immediate  calls  he  must 
obey.  Even  the  business  man,  after  his  business  is 
fairly  started,  is  kept  going  by  direct  and  peremptory 
demands  of  trade.  All,  of  course,  chafe  at  times  under 
this  incessant  pressure  from  the  outside,  but  they  little 
realize  how  much  help  it  is  to  them  in  overcoming  the 
inevitable  dead  points  in  the  rotation  of  human  energy. 
It  is  a  common  saying  that  when  a  man  has  on  hand  a 
long  job  and  a  short  one,  it  is  always  the  short  job  that 
gets  done.  That  is  because  it  makes  a  definite,  tan- 
gible demand,  whereas  the  longer  job,  the  work  de 
tongue  haleine,  can  always  be  indefinitely  postponed. 
The  professor's  work  is  of  this  type. 

So  far  as  his  student  world  is  concerned,  he  can  keep 
himself  right  with  that  by  a  minimum  of  effort.  His 
few  regular  appointments  during  the  week  he  meets 
with  little  inconvenience  to  himself.  During  about 
four  months  of  the  year  he  can,  without  attracting  any 
special  comment,  absent  himself  entirely  from  the 
scenes  of  his  regular  activity.  All  this  sounds  like  a  life 
of  absolute  liberty,  a  charmed  existence  free  from  the 


THE  ACADEMIC  LIFE  29 

strain  and  fret  of  most  human  things.  In  reality  he  is 
the  servant  of  a  master  more  jealous  than  any  clientele 
of  the  successful  man  of  the  world.  Body  and  soul  he 
has  given  himself  to  his  profession,  and  his  only  aim  is 
to  get  out  of  himself  all  he  can  in  fulfilment  of  this 
obligation.  Whatever  his  vices  may  be,  laziness  is  not 
often  one  of  them.  The  inalienable  right  to  grumble  he 
retains  like  other  men,  but  the  form  his  grumbling 
takes  is  usually  that  his  powers  or  his  opportunities  for 
work  are  not  what  they  ought  to  be.  I  cannot  recall  a 
case  of  complaint  of  overwork  on  the  part  of  a  col- 
league, unless  it  were  of  work  of  such  a  kind  that  it 
interfered  with  what  seemed  to  him  his  highest  pro- 
fessional activity.  In  many  ways,  to  be  sure,  he  is  like 
any  employe  owing  service  in  return  for  pay,  but  his 
service  is  so  much  the  more  exacting  in  that  it  is  a 
service  of  honor.  He  has  no  master's  eye  upon  him  to 
check  him  in  a  momentary  weakness.  He  may  absent 
himself  from  his  functions  occasionally  at  will  without 
giving  account  of  himself.  He  may,  for  a  long  time,  be 
neglectful  of  many  details  of  his  study  without  crit- 
icism. He  is  not  controlled  in  the  use  of  his  time  out- 
side the  regular  tabular  view.  He  may  work  in  the 
morning  or  he  may  sleep  till  noon  and  sit  at  his  books 
till  daybreak.  His  original  output  is  not  produced  at 
any  word  of  command.  It  has  to  be  wrought  out  of  his 
innermost  self  by  the  force  of  personal  self-control. 
There  is  never  any  positive  reason  why  a  given  piece  of 
work  should  be  done  at  one  time  rather  than  at  an- 
other. His  only  safety  lies  in  making  for  himself  a  rigid 
division  of  his  week  and  holding  to  it  in  the  face  of  the 


30  LEARNING  AND  LIVING 

numerous  distractions  which  the  collective  life  of  the 
university  continually  offers.  He  has  to  be  his  own 
taskmaster,  and  only  those  who  have  tried  this  know 
what  it  means.  It  is  almost  as  if  an  engine  had  not 
only  to  do  its  work  but  to  furnish  also  the  energy  by 
which  it  is  set  in  motion.  That  would  be  perpetual  mo- 
tion, and  indeed  the  life  of  the  professor,  like  the 
proverbial  life  of  woman,  comes  as  near  that  impossible 
achievement  as  is  possible  under  human  conditions. 
His  work  is  never  done.  It  goes  to  bed  with  him  at 
night  and  rises  with  him  in  the  morning.  It  can  never 
quite  satisfy  his  own  exacting  standards,  and  he  always 
sees  around  the  borders  of  the  accomplished  a  wide  and 
never  diminishing  margin  of  the  unattainable. 

That  brings  us  again  to  vacations.  Ah!  Happy  pro- 
fessors! For  three  months  of  the  year  they  are  free  to 
wander  as  they  will.  They  hie  them  to  mountain  and 
seashore,  and  there,  lying  under  the  spreading  shad- 
ows of  the  forest  or  floating  on  the  surface  of  summer 
seas  they  dream  away  the  time  until  they  are  called 
back  to  their  pleasant  labors  of  the  autumn.  Such  is 
the  fancy  picture  so  often  drawn  and  firmly  believed  in 
by  those  who  see  the  academic  life  only  from  "the 
front  of  the  house."  In  fact  there  are  very  few  mem- 
bers of  a  college  staff  who  give  themselves  anything 
like  a  full  summer  of  idle  recreation.  Almost  everyone 
has  work  on  hand  which  he  has  been  putting  off  from 
day  to  day  in  the  pressure  of  term  time  and  for  which 
he  now  sees,  or  thinks  he  sees,  a  clear  space  before  him. 
The  academic  stay-at-home  finds  no  lack  of  compan- 
ionship. He  has  sent  off  his  family  and  entered  upon 


THE  ACADEMIC  LIFE  31 

that  "peace,  perfect  peace,  the  loved  ones  far  away" 
which  invites  him  to  long  hours  of  quiet  work.  He 
goes  to  the  library,  and,  as  he  turns  the  corners  of  the 
books  tacks,  one  after  another  his  colleagues  appear, 
until  he  wonders  if  the  whole  Faculty  is  not  in  the 
same  conspiracy.  Others  are  with  their  families  but 
within  easy  reach  of  library  or  laboratory.  Others 
again  have  betaken  themselves  to  their  more  distant 
summer  homes  armed  with  boxes  of  books  and  ready  to 
attack  the  unfinished  manuscript,  the  new  edition  of  a 
classic  text,  the  new  course  of  lectures  for  the  coming 
winter. 

The  establishment  of  summer  schools  has  brought  a 
new  and  very  serious  kind  of  pressure  upon  the  uni- 
versity teacher.  He  is  urged  to  this  additional  task  by 
the  sense  of  loyalty  to  his  college  and  by  the  prospect  of 
adding  a  pittance  to  his  income.  He  is  really  worn  out 
by  the  work  of  the  year,  or  if  not  he  ought  to  be,  but 
the  effect  of  that  strain  is  not  immediately  felt.  There 
is  a  certain  exaltation  of  weariness  which  keys  its  vic- 
tim up  to  new  exertion.  Every  physician  will  bear  wit- 
ness to  this  fact.  The  tired  teacher  enters  gaily  upon 
his  summer  work,  but  he  will  almost  certainly  droop 
under  it.  Other  forms  of  summer  occupation  have  at 
least  the  merit  of  a  change  of  work  and  of  scene.  The 
teacher  is  tied  to  the  same  spot  and  subjected  to  the 
same  kind  of  strain  as  at  other  times.  He  is  prevented 
from  making  any  further  profitable  use  of  his  vacation 
and  goes  back  to  his  work  of  the  next  year  with  a 
diminished  vitality  that  must  tell  upon  his  usefulness. 
Colleges  ought  to  consider  very  seriously  whether  the 


3a  LEARNING  AND  LIVING 

good  results  of  the  summer  term  really  outweigh  this 
sapping  of  the  energies  of  their  best  men.  If  the  sum- 
mer term  is  a  necessity,  if  as  the  phrase  now  is  "the 
plant  must  be  kept  going  at  capacity,"  there  should 
be  some  system  of  "shifts"  whereby  the  teaching  force 
can  be  more  evenly  distributed  and  the  wear  and  tear 
of  the  individual  be  measurably  diminished.  To  sug- 
gest that  in  the  intellectual  life  periods  of  complete 
rest,  with  that  possibility  of  calm  reflection  which  alone 
can  place  things  in  a  true  perspective,  are  actually 
periods  of  productivity  is  to  invite  the  undeserved  re- 
proach of  dilettantism.  The  razor's  edge  sharpens  itself 
while  lying  idle,  through  the  adjustment  of  the  particles 
that  compose  it. 

Therein  lies  the  true  value  of  the  vacation.  It  is  not, 
and  it  ought  not  to  be  a  period  of  idleness,  but  of  that 
otium  which  through  wise  activity  keeps  the  mind  in 
readiness  for  renewed  action  in  the  routine  of  daily 
service.  Viewed  in  this  way  the  incident  of  long  vaca- 
tions becomes  indeed  an  attraction  of  the  academic 
life,  a  legitimate  attraction  which  may  well  influence  a 
young  man  in  striking  the  balance  of  opportunities 
before  him.  As  for  the  shorter  holidays  at  Christmas 
and  Easter:  they  have  almost  entirely  disappeared 
through  the  extraordinary  growth  of  learned  associa- 
tions, the  meetings  of  which  every  university  man  now 
feels  it  his  duty  to  attend.  These  associations  have 
proved  of  immense  value  during  the  past  generation 
in  creating  and  maintaining  a  quite  new  sense  of  com- 
mon professional  interest.  They  offer  a  medium  of  pub- 
lication for  the  results  of  investigation;  their  meetings 


THE  ACADEMIC  LIFE  33 

give  valuable  opportunities  for  comparing  notes  on 
methods  and  conditions  of  work;  older  men  have  there 
the  chance  to  review  the  field  of  talent  coming  forward 
in  their  profession,  and  younger  men  gain  a  useful 
personal  knowledge  of  those  to  whom  they  have  been 
looking  up  as  leaders  in  the  way  they  are  going.  None 
can  afford  entirely  to  neglect  these  organizations,  but 
even  a  very  moderate  devotion  to  them  suffices  to  con- 
sume the  entire  time  of  the  shorter  holidays.  To  those 
who  take  an  active  part  in  the  reunions  of  many  sorts 
that  properly  and  usefully  accompany  them  they 
prove  stimulating  indeed,  but  not  altogether  refresh- 
ing. It  is  proverbial  that  three  days  of  convention 
require  at  least  a  week  of  recovery. 

Thus  far  we  have  been  giving  our  attention  mainly 
to  those  aspects  of  the  academic  life  which  may  well 
cause  the  youth  who  is  considering  it  among  the  pos- 
sibilities of  his  future  to  pause  upon  the  threshold  and 
ask  himself  very  seriously  whether  this  is  indeed  the 
kind  of  life  he  wishes  to  lead.  The  sacrifice  of  public 
recognition;  the  narrowness  of  income;  the  long  pro- 
bation; the  persistent  pressure  of  work  demanding  a 
constant  strain  on  the  conscience  and  with  no  corre- 
sponding external  advancement  —  these  are  all  things 
to  be  weighed  most  carefully  before  a  decision  is  made. 
The  decision  will  after  all  have  to  rest  upon  that  in- 
stinct for  the  right  which  even  in  a  very  young  man 
gives  the  truest  counsel  as  to  what  life  is  for.  I  remem- 
ber asking  a  venerable  German  professor  how  it  was 
that  university  authorities  could  allow  a  candidate  for 
his  profession  after  long  years  of  training,  and  after 


34  LEARNING  AND  LIVING 

he  had  given  every  evidence  of  fitness,  to  serve  the 
university,  perhaps  for  years,  without  pay  or  other 
academic  recognition.  His  reply  was:  "We  regard  the 
position  of  university  professor  as  so  desirable  and  so 
honorable  that  we  propose  to  make  the  approach  to  it 
as  difficult  as  possible." 

For  Germany  that  was  a  perfectly  satisfactory  an- 
swer. Would  it  be  equally  so  for  America?  With  al- 
lowance for  difference  of  conditions,  I  think  it  would. 
The  kind  of  obstacles  we  have  been  considering  are  not 
such  as  daunt  the  spirit  of  an  ambitious  youth  con- 
scious of  power  and  willing  to  work.  Rather  they  are 
likely  to  stimulate  ambition  and  give  him  the  feeling 
that  the  work  is  worth  doing  because  it  will  eventually 
give  him  the  things  he  values  most  highly.  The  desir- 
ability of  any  position  depends  in  the  last  resort  upon 
its  social  distinction.  Sometimes  this  distinction  ex- 
presses itself  in  terms  of  money  and  what  money  can 
buy,  and  if  the  things  so  bought  are  worthy  things, 
then  this  is  an  honorable  distinction  and  money-mak- 
ing becomes  a  worthy  pursuit.  But  there  is  a  social 
regard  which  money  cannot  buy,  and  it  is  a  just  source 
of  pride  that  on  the  whole,  in  civilized  America,  the 
scholar,  definitely  excluded  from  consideration  on  the 
ground  of  wealth,  is  respected  for  his  calling.  In  fact 
the  scholar  who  inherits  wealth  or  acquires  it  by  mar- 
riage falls  under  a  certain  suspicion  of  slackening  in  the 
motive  power  of  his  life  and  must  justify  himself  by  an 
increased  tension  of  application. 

Many  years  ago  a  rich  young  man  of  great  promise 
just  finishing  his  college  course  came  to  me  for  advice 


THE  ACADEMIC  LIFE  35 

about  further  study.  He  outlined  his  plans  with  be- 
coming modesty  and  added  that  his  circumstances 
would  permit  him  to  spend  as  long  a  time  in  prepara- 
tion as  he  might  choose.  I  heard  him  through  with 
interest,  gave  him  what  help  I  could  and  closed  our 
conversation  with  a  word  of  warning:  "If  you  ex- 
pect to  succeed  in  the  scholar's  life  you  must  make 
yourself  believe  that  you  are  a  poor  man."  He  took 
my  warning  kindly,  perhaps  forgot  it,  but  followed  its 
spirit.  He  began  at  the  bottom,  took  his  punishment 
with  his  mates,  earned  his  advanced  degree,  avoided 
the  distractions  that  so  easily  beset  the  foot-free  stu- 
dent abroad,  started  on  the  lowest  round  of  the  aca- 
demic ladder  and  rose  to  the  highest  with  the  cordial 
esteem  of  his  colleagues  and  the  growing  approval  of 
the  authorities. 

Quite  different  was  the  attitude  of  another  can- 
didate, a  man  with  his  living  to  earn,  who  came  to 
America  after  a  residence  of  some  years  at  a  foreign 
university  where  his  personal  and  social  gifts  had  won 
for  him  an  enviable  reputation.  He  desired,  as  he 
might  have  phrased  it,  to  "adopt  the  university 
career,"  but  there  was  one  hopeless  flaw  in  his  reckon- 
ing —  he  wanted  to  begin  at  the  top.  He  would  not 
put  himself  down  to  the  task  of  building  up  from  the 
bottom  the  foundations  of  patient  study  on  which  a 
serious  candidacy  could  be  based.  So  the  university 
career  refused  to  adopt  him,  and  he  drifted  into  more 
congenial  occupation. 

Neither  wealth  nor  the  absence  of  it  has  any  specific 
relation  to  the  consideration  enjoyed  by  the  academic 


36  LEARNING  AND  LIVING 

person.  His  social  status  depends  upon  the  regard  for 
learning  in  the  community  in  which  his  lot  is  cast.  A 
young  man  of  parts  coming  to  a  great  eastern  univer- 
sity said  to  me:  "You  cannot  imagine  the  relief  it  is 
to  be  in  a  place  where  people  are  not  all  the  time  asking 
me  why  I  am  such  a  fool  as  to  be  spending  my  time 
over  books  when  I  might  be  making  big  money  in 
some  decent  business."  That  state  of  things  has  dis- 
tinctly changed  with  the  wider  spread  of  civilized  con- 
ditions. On  the  whole  it  is  safe  to  say  that  to-day  the 
college  citizen  may  assume  that  he  will  be  persona 
grata  in  any  society  which  may  seem  to  him  worth  cul- 
tivating. If  such  association  involves  the  spending  of 
more  money  than  he  can  afford  he  cannot  have  it,  as  he 
cannot  have  many  other  pleasant  things;  but  ordinar- 
ily this  is  not  the  case.  The  man  of  learning,  provided, 
of  course,  that  he  is  otherwise  acceptable,  can  look 
forward  to  as  "good  society"  as  the  community  af- 
fords. He  can  accept  hospitality  as  it  is  offered  and 
can  return  it  in  such  fashion  as  fits  his  purse  without 
fear  that  any  one  worth  considering  will  think  the  less 
of  him.  A  recent  magazine  gave  a  would-be  pathetic 
sketch  of  the  social  miseries  of  a  young  couple  in  their 
first  year  of  academic  life.  The  pathos  fell  flat  because 
the  couple  were  silly  persons,  each  in  his  own  way,  and 
the  academic  community  was  represented  by  a  clique 
of  hopeless  snobs.  Those  are  not  normal  American 
conditions.  No  person  has  a  right  to  any  more  social 
regard  than  his  personal  quality  can  command,  and 
academic  society  is  the  last  place  for  the  display  of 
fictitious  superiorities. 


THE  ACADEMIC  LIFE  37 

An  evidence  of  popular  respect  and  confidence  is  to 
be  found  in  security  of  tenure.  Americans  are  prover- 
bially jealous  of  long  tenures  of  public  office.  Only 
here  and  there  has  this  jealousy  been  so  far  overcome 
as  to  admit  of  life  appointments  for  judicial  officers. 
It  is,  therefore,  a  matter  for  congratulation  that  life- 
tenures  for  university  professors  are  as  widely  estab- 
lished as  they  are.  True,  such  appointments  for  life  are 
seldom  or  never  guaranteed,  but  practice,  and  a  senti- 
ment stronger  than  any  contract  have  made  them  the 
rule  in  most  of  our  older  communities,  and  the  newer 
are  falling  into  line  as  they  come  more  and  more  to  ap- 
preciate the  importance  of  education  in  the  making  of  a 
state.  Nearly  a  generation  ago  a  western  university 
president  of  long  experience  and  accumulated  wisdom 
gave  to  a  young  candidate  for  a  university  presidency 
this  advice:  "Don't  turn  out  all  your  professors  in 
the  first  year."  To-day  that  advice  would  hardly  be 
needed.  Insecurity  of  tenure  is  the  natural  accom- 
paniment of  ill-advised  appointment,  and  all  those 
factors  in  the  preparation  of  candidates  which  we  have 
been  considering  as  so  many  deterrent  agencies  show 
their  value  also  as  so  many  guarantees  of  good  ap- 
pointment and  therefore  as  justification  for  security  of 
tenure.  We  have  every  reason  to  hope  that  as  appoint- 
ments become  increasingly  difficult,  and  probation  is 
more  effectively  enforced,  the  conditions  of  tenure  will 
improve  in  proportion. 

Another  evidence  of  public  consideration  is  the  in- 
creasing readiness  of  communities  to  look  to  the  uni- 
versities for  expert  service  of  many  kinds.  Passing  by 


38  LEARNING  AND  LIVING 

the  monumental  instance  of  a  president  of  the  United 
States  who  served  his  apprenticeship  as  a  university 
professor  and  then  as  university  president,  one  recalls 
without  effort  professors  of  law  appointed  on  legislative 
commissions  for  the  reform  of  procedure,  professors  of 
economic  science  on  state  tax  commissions,  professors 
of  geology  in  charge  of  state  and  national  surveys,  and 
a  long  series  of  professors  serving  on  school  boards  and 
otherwise  doing  public  duty  in  educational  matters. 
The  list  of  university  men  who  have  been  employed  by 
our  government  upon  long  and  arduous  and  delicate 
negotiations  with  foreign  powers  is  a  striking  and 
honorable  one.  It  may  fairly  be  said  that  it  depends 
only  upon  the  quality  of  the  man  how  far  he  may  be 
brought  into  relation  with  public  affairs. 

I  speak  of  this  here  only  to  illustrate  the  considera- 
tion of  our  public  for  the  profession  of  the  scholar.  I 
am  not  referring  to  it  as  a  motive  for  the  ambitious 
youth  looking  forward  to  the  academic  life.  It  would 
be  a  misfortune  if  his  mind  were  to  be  directed  to  any 
other  goal  than  that  of  the  highest  distinction  possible 
to  him  within  the  limits  of  the  profession  itself.  To 
make  his  profession  a  means  of  attaining  distinction 
elsewhere  would  be  to  belittle  it  in  his  own  eyes  and  in 
the  estimation  of  the  community  in  general.  It  is  a 
wholesome  sign  that  the  community  should  turn  to  the 
university  for  expert  service,  and  universities  will  do 
well  to  make  it  possible  for  their  members  to  respond  to 
such  calls  for  brief  periods.  The  reaction  upon  their 
proper  work  cannot  fail  to  be  beneficial,  provided  only 
that  they  be  not  thereby  led  to  think  of  this  proper 


39 

work  as  something  less  important  or  less  worthy  than 
the  "larger"  service. 

But  these  are  all  external  and  material  considera- 
tions. There  are  others  involving  more  nearly  questions 
of  the  inner  life.  If  the  academic  career  can  seldom 
offer  the  attractions  of  the  world  of  affairs,  it  has  the 
charm  of  freedom  from  its  anxieties  and  its  strifes.  In 
most  other  occupations  there  are  inevitable  competi- 
tions and  rivalries  full  of  stimulation  to  energy  but 
bringing  men  down  every  now  and  then  to  the  primi- 
tive law  of  the  survival  of  fitness  with  its  heart-break- 
ing accompaniments.  What  one  gains  another  loses; 
the  weakest  to  the  wall !  Vae  metis!  In  the  academic 
life  there  is  indeed  competition,  plenty  of  it,  from 
bottom  to  top;  but  it  is  never  a  competition  in  which 
the  gain  of  one  is  a  loss  to  another.  In  the  world  of 
knowledge  the  success  of  each  contributes  to  the  ad- 
vancement of  all.  The  rivalries  of  the  scholar  are  the 
wholesome  strife  in  which  both  parties  are  always  vic- 
torious. He  who  makes  the  final  discovery,  deciphers 
the  precious  manuscript,  or  solves  the  riddle  of  the 
historian,  conquers,  not  those  who  have  striven  with 
him  in  the  same  endeavor,  but  the  obstacle  itself.  His 
rivals  are  his  colleagues  and  his  friends,  and  they  profit 
by  his  success  as  much  as  he.  In  the  rivalries  of  com- 
merce the  discoverer  or  the  inventor  of  some  new  thing 
hastens  to  protect  himself  by  law  against  the  encroach- 
ments of  competitors.  In  science  the  discoverer  seeks 
only  to  proclaim  his  results  as  soon  as  they  are  estab- 
lished, that  others  may  build  upon  them  and  rise  to 
still  greater  heights.  Now  and  again,  to  be  sure,  one 


40  LEARNING  AND  LIVING 

meets  a  scholar,  it  may  be  a  very  eminent  one,  who 
finds  his  special  satisfaction  in  belittling  and  begrudg- 
ing the  success  of  another,  but  such  a  man  is  the  pariah 
of  the  academic  society,  not  its  type. 

More  too  than  in  most  other  occupations  the  re- 
wards of  the  scholar  and  teacher  are  found  in  the  work 
itself.  He  is  drawn  into  his  profession  primarily  by 
some  special  attraction  it  has  for  him,  and  this  attrac- 
tion grows  naturally  greater  as  he  goes  deeper  and 
deeper  into  his  subject.  The  inevitable  drudgery  and 
monotony  of  his  routine  he  comes  to  think  of  as  the 
price  he  has  to  pay  for  the  privilege  of  doing  the  thing 
in  which,  on  the  whole,  he  takes  the  greatest  delight. 
His  problem  is  to  keep  the  routine  from  obscuring  the 
larger  and  higher  satisfactions  of  his  life.  Sometimes, 
under  the  stress  of  the  daily  round,  it  seems  to  him  as  if 
life  were  very  much  of  a  treadmill  with  an  immense 
amount  of  treading  to  a  very  small  proportion  of 
power  gained.  But  then,  quite  unexpectedly,  some  little 
turn  of  the  wheel  opens  up  a  new  glimpse  of  possibility. 
He  feels  the  power  really  working  and  accomplishing 
something.  Long  standing  puzzles  seem  to  be  clearing 
themselves  up.  Results  are  actually  visible.  Some- 
thing may  be  put  aside  as  really  done  at  last,  and  one 
goes  on  again  with  the  routine  enlarged  and  brightened 
by  the  vision  of  success. 

Academic  rewards  are  few  and  slow  in  coming,  but 
they  are  extremely  precious.  Their  value  comes,  not 
merely  from  their  rarity,  but  because  they  are  unmixed 
with  any  alloy  of  baser  motive.  One  goes  on  teaching 
week  in  and  week  out,  putting  one's  whole  life  into  it 


THE  ACADEMIC  LIFE  41 

and  wondering  from  day  to  day  at  the  unresponsive- 
ness  of  youth.  A  sense  of  failure  haunts  one's  thoughts 
and  makes  one  question  whether  it  is  worth  while  after 
all.  But  then,  it  may  be  years  afterward,  there  comes 
to  one  out  of  that  same  unresponsive  group,  a  word  of 
gratitude,  a  reminder  of  some  chance  remark  of  ours 
which  has  turned  the  current  of  a  young  man's  thought, 
and  we  are  ashamed  of  our  depression  and  our  little 
faith. 

One  often  hears  this  perpetual  contact  with  youth  re- 
ferred to  as  one  of  the  chief  dangers  of  the  academic 
life.  Youth,  we  are  told,  is  so  uncritical,  so  ready  to 
take  us  for  more  than  we  are  worth.  We  must  suffer 
from  it  as  the  clergyman  proverbially  suffers  from  over 
much  dealing  with  admiring  women.  All  this  is  partly 
true.  The  teacher  like  the  clergyman  feels  at  times  the 
temptation  to  lean  too  hard  upon  his  official  character 
and  too  lightly  upon  the  legitimate  sanctions  of  his 
subject  and  his  own  interpretation  of  it.  I  doubt,  how- 
ever, if  academic  teachers  who  appeal  directly  and 
naturally  to  the  student  mind  find  it  an  uncritical 
mind  or  one  over  ready  to  take  them  at  their  price 
rather  than  at  its  own.  In  mere  knowledge,  of  course, 
the  student  world  owns  its  inferiority  at  once;  but  as 
to  every  other  academic  quality  it  has  its  own  stand- 
ards and  enforces  them  at  times  with  the  remorseless 
cruelty  of  the  youthful  savage.  Well  for  the  superior 
person  if  early  in  his  career  he  touches  upon  this  stra- 
tum of  primitive  humanity  in  his  students  and  learns 
to  respect  it.  But  woe  to  him  if  he  presumes  too  far 
upon  their  simplicity!  At  some  unexpected  moment  he 


42  LEARNING  AND  LIVING 

will  find  his  assumed  superiority  toppling  over  in 
hopeless  ruin. 

But  in  fact  this  is  such  an  obvious  danger  that  it 
must  be  a  very  dull  person  who  should  surrender  him- 
self easily  to  it.  The  man  of  sense  recognizes  it  at  the 
start  and  begins  at  once  to  feel  it  as  only  another  as- 
pect of  what  ought  to  be  one  of  the  greatest  charms  of 
his  academic  experience.  This  continual  contact  with 
minds  that  are  all  facing  forward  is  a  happiness  we  can 
thoroughly  appreciate  only  when  our  own  minds  begin 
to  be  divided  between  the  forward  looking  and  the 
backward  looking  views  of  life,  with  a  certain  increas- 
ing tendency  toward  the  backward.  It  is  then  espe- 
cially, if  we  are  wise,  that  we  learn  to  refresh  our 
sometimes  failing  hope  and  courage  at  these  ever  re- 
newed springs  of  energy  and  faith. 

One  of  our  most  devoted  teachers  and  most  famous 
scholars  used  to  say  in  his  moments  of  semi-depression : 
"We  shall  never  have  a  university  here  till  we  get  rid 
of  all  the  students."  Another  expressed  the  same  senti- 
ment: "If  it  weren't  for  these  plaguy  lectures  what 
a  pleasant  life  this  would  be!"  Now  neither  of  these 
eminent  men  meant  quite  what  he  said.  For  the  mo- 
ment each  was  feeling  rather  heavily  the  burden  of 
his  teaching  as  a  check  upon  the  other  and  to  him  more 
precious  work  of  pure  scholarship  he  was  trying  to  do. 
For  that  moment  each  had  lost  sight  of  the  debt  his 
scholarship  itself  owed  to  the  reaction  of  the  young  life 
that  had  surrounded  it.  Certainly  neither  of  them 
would  have  been  willing  to  miss  the  tributes  of  grateful 
affection  which  brightened  the  closing  years  of  their 
academic  lives. 


THE  ACADEMIC  LIFE  43 

The  obvious  corrective  against  an  overplus  of  youth 
is  to  be  sought  in  the  companionship  of  elders  and 
equals  in  age,  and,  after  all  is  said,  it  is  here  that  is  to  be 
found  the  greatest  happiness  of  the  university  career. 
The  scholar  gives  up  the  great  world,  but  he  enters  into 
a  little  world  as  free  from  the  meaner  passions  as  any 
human  society  is  likely  to  be.  In  his  study  he  enjoys 
the  immense  privilege  of  an  inviolable  solitude,  but 
when  he  leaves  his  study  he  feels  himself  at  once  an 
active  member  of  a  society  of  kindred  tastes,  of  quick 
response  to  the  best  that  he  has  to  offer  and  with  pro- 
fessional aims  for  which  he  has  comprehension  if  not 
understanding.  He  may  make  what  excursions  he  can 
into  the  larger  world,  but  it  is  here  that  he  will  have  to 
look  for  the  intimate  associations  and  the  real  satisfac- 
tions of  his  life.  True,  in  these  days  of  specialization  he 
can  hope  to  enter  into  the  technical  detail  of  the  work 
of  but  a  few  of  his  colleagues,  but  our  day  is  no  more 
remarkable  for  its  specialization  than  it  is  for  its  mar- 
velous revelation  of  the  essential  unity  of  method  in  all 
science.  If  specializing  tends,  as  it  certainly  does,  to 
divide  men  pretty  sharply  into  technical  groups,  it  is 
one  of  the  functions  of  the  academic  unit  we  call  the 
university  to  remind  them  in  every  way  that  they  are 
but  parts  in  a  something  greater  than  the  several 
sciences  they  represent. 

Membership  in  this  unit  brings  with  it  the  privilege 
which  the  isolated  scholar  can  never  enjoy  of  con- 
stantly verifying  the  method  of  one  science  by  com- 
parison with  others.  The  historian  learns  from  the 
physicist,  and  the  biologist  from  the  philosopher,  many 


44  LEARNING  AND  LIVING 

a  thing  that  will  illuminate  his  own  science.  The  man 
who  withdraws  himself  from  such  association  suffers 
inevitably.  A  mathematician  once  confessed  to  me 
early  in  his  career  that  he  had  so  confined  himself  to 
the  mathematical  process  that  he  had  lost  the  power  of 
following  an  ordinary  train  of  reasoning  by  other  than 
mathematical  principles.  A  very  eminent  philologian 
who  had  spent  the  best  years  of  his  life  in  making  a 
dictionary  was  accustomed  to  deplore  his  incapacity 
for  logical  and  continuous  thought.  In  both  these 
cases  it  was  conspicuously  true  that  the  usefulness  of 
the  man  in  his  own  sphere  was  sadly  diminished  by  his 
limited  conception  of  his  function  as  a  scholar.  The 
free  give  and  take  of  the  university  offers  ample  scope 
for  specialization,  but  tends  to  preserve  the  specialist 
from  the  worst  dangers  of  learned  narrowness.  If  the 
university  man  fails  to  see  his  opportunity,  buries  him- 
self in  his  books,  willing  to  let  the  devil  pipe  to  his  own, 
that  is  his  own  mistake  and,  consciously  or  not,  he  is 
the  worst  sufferer  from  it. 

In  retrospect  the  dominant  feeling  in  regard  to  the 
academic  life  is  not  of  its  burdens  or  its  limitations,  but 
of  the  happiness  of  it.  To  the  young  man  weighing  the 
chances  of  the  future  I  would  leave  no  better  message 
than  this:  It  is  a  happy  life. 


WHAT  TO  DO  WITH  A  BOY? 

A  FRIEND  of  mine,  a  man  of  wealth  and  real  cul- 
ture living  in  an  agreeable  suburb  of  a  large  west- 
ern city,  wrote  me  to  inquire  as  to  the  very  best  school 
at  which  his  sons  might,  as  the  phrase  is,  prepare  them- 
selves to  enter  Harvard  College.  The  inquiry  was  in 
several  ways  characteristic  of  the  American  state  of 
mind  in  regard  to  the  education  of  a  boy  between  the 
ages  of  ten  and  eighteen.  The  father  used  the  phrase 
"prepare  for  Harvard  College"  because  that  was  the 
idea  uppermost  in  his  mind  as  he  thought  of  the  im- 
mediate future  of  his  sons.  The  boys  were  to  enter 
Harvard  College;  that  was  the  one  fixed  point  in  his 
outlook.  They  would  enter  at  about  eighteen,  and  the 
handiest  summary  of  their  life  during  several  years 
previous  to  entrance  was  that  of  a  "preparation"  for 
college.  It  probably  never  occurred  to  the  father,  as  it 
seldom  occurs  to  American  fathers  situated  as  he  was, 
to  consider  that  precisely  these  years  of  the  boy's  life 
had  most  important  bearings  upon  his  whole  future, 
and  that  this  relation  to  the  whole  future  was  of  far 
greater  moment  than  their  relation  to  the  immediate 
future  of  the  college  course. 

Furthermore,  it  was  not  merely  the  college  that  filled 
the  foreground  of  this  anxious  father's  thought.  It  was 
one  particular  college,  and  it  was  with  a  view  to  getting 
light  upon  the  best  way  of  preparation  for  entrance 
there  that  he  did  me  the  honor  to  consult  me  as  a  sup- 
posed expert.  That  there  was  such  a  "best"  way,  he 

45 


46  LEARNING  AND  LIVING 

did  not  doubt,  and  the  form  of  his  inquiry  showed  that 
he  thought  I  could  answer  it  promptly  and  very  briefly. 
In  this  respect  also  I  think  he  was  typical  of  his  kind. 
The  same  question:  what  to  do  with  a  boy?  arises 
in  hundreds  of  American  homes,  and  in  every  case  the 
search  is  for  some  "first  best"  school,  where  all  the 
highest  requirements  of  the  modern  favored  boy  shall 
be  met.  In  fact,  my  answer  was  rather  longer  than  one 
ordinarily  can  make  to  such  inquiries,  and  I  was  much 
interested  in  its  reception.  For  some  time  I  received  no 
word  from  my  friend;  but  then  came  an  almost  pathet- 
ically grateful  response.  The  delay,  he  wrote,  was 
because  my  letter  had  been  sent  around  through  the 
various  family  connections  most  concerned,  and  the 
effect  of  it  had  been  a  feeling  of  general  relief.  The  gist 
of  my  advice  had  been  that  the  boys  should,  if  possible, 
be  kept  at  home.  Deep  down,  this  had  been  the  wish  of 
the  family  also,  but  they  had  supposed,  unwillingly, 
that  the  "preparation"  thus  to  be  obtained  would  not 
be  of  the  "  best "  variety  and  were  correspondingly  re- 
lieved by  my  "  expert "  opinion.  The  sons  were  kept  at 
home  until  the  last  year  before  their  entrance  into  col- 
lege, and  were  then  sent  to  a  school  of  the  type  to 
which  I  had  given  a  certain  qualified  approval. 

It  has  seemed  to  me  possible  that  the  reasons  for  the 
advice  given  then  to  a  personal  friend  might  be  of  in- 
terest to  a  larger  audience.  That  the  general  question: 
what  to  do  with  a  boy?  should  interest  so  many  Ameri- 
can families  is  a  fact  at  once  significant  and  hopeful.  It 
is  significant  first  of  the  absence  of  any  general  stand- 
ards in  regard  to  the  education  of  our  youth.  Compar- 


WHAT  TO  DO  WITH  A  BOY?  47 

ing  class  for  class  with  any  civilized  European  country 
the  difference  here  is  most  striking.  The  "best"  way 
for  the  well-to-do  English  boy  is  clearly  marked  from 
the  beginning.  He  will  be  sent  to  a  so-called  public 
school,  which  means  an  endowed  school  not  conducted 
primarily  as  a  business  enterprise  by  a  private  person. 
Such  a  school  stands  ordinarily  in  some  relation  with 
one  of  the  two  great  universities  of  Oxford  and  Cam- 
bridge, so  that  the  progress  of  the  youth  from  school  to 
college  is  at  least  indicated  pretty  clearly  from  the  out- 
set. The  British  public  freely  criticizes  its  educational 
system,  and  this  criticism  produces  gradual  changes  in 
administration;  but  on  the  whole  the  system  itself  has 
remained  singularly  uniform  and  continues  to  appeal 
powerfully  to  those  elements  of  society  which  give 
tone  to  English  life. 

Much  the  same  may  be  said  of  Germany  and  France. 
There  too  there  is  a  distinctly  best  course  for  the  nor- 
mal youth.  It  is  determined  to  a  far  greater  extent  by 
governmental  activity.  It  is  much  more  definitely  re- 
lated to  professional  life;  but  its  appeal  to  the  ordinary 
studious  youth  is  equally  strong.  In  no  other  way  can 
he  reach  the  results  he  and  his  family  naturally  set  be- 
fore themselves  in  planning  his  career.  It  is  only  in  the 
case  of  exceptionally  endowed  or  exceptionally  incap- 
able individuals  that  any  acute  problem  arises.  Or- 
dinarily the  successive  stages  of  the  national  schools 
are  passed  through  without  any  special  crisis  at  which 
the  question  of  method  presses  for  an  answer. 

In  America  no  such  universally  accepted  standard 
exists.  We  pride  ourselves  indeed  upon  our  system  of 


48  LEARNING  AND  LIVING 

public  schools  in  which,  we  like  to  tell  the  foreign  visi- 
tor, every  boy  and  girl  in  the  land  may  receive  an  edu- 
cation in  the  rudiments  of  learning  without  cost.  We 
point  to  splendid  buildings  equipped  with  every  device 
for  this  universal  training.  We  show  the  figures  of  state 
appropriation  for  this  purpose  and  regret  only  that 
they  do  not  bear  a  still  larger  proportion  to  the  rest  of 
the  public  outlay.  We  conceal  from  ourselves  and 
others  that  there  are  vast  areas  of  our  country  into 
which  the  blessings  of  free  education  have  not  pene- 
trated, and  we  readily  forget  the  alarming  percentages 
of  illiteracy  revealed  whenever,  as  in  the  case  of  the 
recent  war,  our  adult  population  is  subjected  to  rigid 
statistical  inquiry. 

But,  taking  our  public  school  system  at  its  best,  we 
Americans  are  inclined  to  treat  it  as  we  treat  many  an- 
other privilege  that  lies  close  to  our  hand.  We  praise  it 
as  the  palladium  of  our  liberties,  the  essential  instru- 
ment in  that  mysterious  process  we  call  "  americaniza- 
tion,"  the  glory  of  our  free  institutions,  the  noblest 
witness  to  that  idealism  we  like  to  think  of  as  our  chief 
national  trait.  It  stands  to  us  as  the  most  vivid  expres- 
sion of  that  democracy  we  all  worship  in  the  abstract 
and  so  few  of  us  practise  in  the  concrete.  For  the 
curious  fact  is  that,  in  spite  of  all  our  glorification  of  the 
public  school,  one  of  the  first  instincts  of  the  American 
parent,  the  moment  he  feels  himself  well  enough  off  in 
this  world's  goods,  is  to  deny  his  children  the  precious 
privilege  of  sharing  its  blessings.  He  continues  to  de- 
fend it  in  theory.  For  other  people's  children  it  is  a 
magnificent  asset.  For  his  own  there  must,  he  feels,  be 


WHAT  TO  DO  WITH  A  BOY?          49 

something  better.  Just  as  he  will  give  them  better 
clothes,  a  better  house,  better  social  surroundings,  or, 
as  he  would  say,  a  better  "chance,"  so  he  begins  to  cast 
about  him  for  a  better  education. 

Wherein  this  improvement  is  to  consist  he  has  not  a 
glimmer  of  an  idea.  He  only  knows  that  while  the 
thing  near  at  hand  is  undoubtedly  good  enough  for  the 
multitude,  he  has  won  for  himself  through  his  effort  in 
life  the  right  to  something  different.  Especially  if  this 
parent  has  himself  been  obliged  to  be  content  with  the 
means  of  education  offered  by  public  provision,  he  is 
likely  to  be  all  the  more  determined  that  his  children 
shall  not  be  subjected  to  the  indignity  of  this  handicap. 
Only  the  best  will  do  for  them,  and  the  best  is  accord- 
ing to  the  standards  familiar  to  him,  that  which  costs 
the  most  —  costs  in  money  and  in  sacrifice.  It  is  a 
noble  instinct;  the  logic  of  it  is  plausible,  and  the  ex- 
cuses for  its  exercise  are  readily  found.  It  rests  upon 
that  sound  principle  to  which  we  owe  all  the  best  in 
American  life,  the  principle  that  the  welfare  of  a  com- 
munity depends  upon  a  constant  effort  to  improve, 
never  to  be  content  with  what  we  have,  but  to  strive 
constantly  for  something  that  eludes  us,  to  be  willing  to 
experiment  and  not  be  discouraged  by  failure. 

As  long  as  parents  are  saying  "I  want  to  give  my 
child  every  advantage  in  the  game  of  life,  and  especially 
those  advantages  I  lacked  myself"  there  is  hope  for  the 
Republic.  It  is  a  spirit  no  wise  adviser  would  wish  to 
quench.  The  critical  question  it  raises  is,  what  "ad- 
vantages" are.  The  parent  means  by  the  word,  posi- 
tive and  direct  helps  for  his  boy  toward  the  ends  he  has 


50  LEARNING  AND  LIVING 

in  view.  He  thinks  most  of  all  of  the  removal  of  what 
he  feels  to  have  been  obstacles  in  the  way  of  his  own 
progress.  He  says  to  himself  "if  only  I  had  had  this  or 
that  kind  of  help  at  the  right  moment,  how  much 
easier  it  would  have  been  for  me  to  do  what  I  wanted 
to  do."  Now  in  this  reflection  of  his  mature  life  he  is 
probably  wrong.  The  chances  are  a  thousand  to  one 
that  what  he  now  conceives  of  as  obstacles  were  really 
so  many  spurs  to  his  own  energy.  Not  in  spite  of  them, 
probably,  but  because  of  them,  he  has  reached  that 
measure  of  success  which  now  enables  him  to  do  for  his 
children  what  he  thinks  he  wishes  somebody  had  done 
for  him.  The  world  moves;  everything  is  being  im- 
proved; the  new  must  be  better  than  the  old;  nothing 
short  of  the  newest,  and  therefore  the  best,  will  do  for 
the  favored  youth  in  whose  welfare  he  is  most  con- 
cerned. 

Moved  by  some  such  reasoning  as  this,  the  conscien- 
tious but  perplexed  parent  begins  his  inquiries  as  to 
where  he  can  find  the  solution  of  his  problem.  The 
names  of  a  few  well-known  schools  are  familiar  to  him, 
but  they  are  only  names.  Why  one  should  be  prefer- 
able to  another  is  not  clear  to  him.  The  one  thing  clear 
is  that  he  must  send  the  boy  away,  and  here  is  where  I 
should  be  glad,  if  it  is  possible,  to  say  to  him  what  I 
wrote  to  my  inquiring  friend,  and  perhaps  to  give  him 
an  equal  relief.  As  a  general  proposition,  I  believe  it  to 
be  true,  that  for  the  normal  American  boy,  the  best 
place  is  the  normal  American  home.  By  the  normal 
boy  I  mean  just  what  the  word  implies,  one  who  is  not 
distinguished  by  any  such  gifts  or  deficiencies  as  indi- 


WHAT  TO  DO  WITH  A  BOY?  51 

cate  the  need  of  any  special  treatment.  By  the  normal 
home  I  mean  one  in  which  there  exists  no  specific 
obstacle  to  the  reasonable  development  of  a  child. 

These  definitions  suggest  two  cautions  against  errors 
of  judgment  frequently  observed  in  those  responsible 
for  the  education  of  a  boy.  The  first  is  against  the  no- 
tion that  the  boy  is  "peculiar,"  a  favorite  delusion  of 
parents,  encouraged  and  even  deliberately  cultivated 
by  educational  doctors  of  many  types.  In  a  sense,  we 
may  almost  say  that  every  boy  is  abnormal.  Every 
one  has  qualities  that  mark  him  from  all  the  rest,  and 
authorities  differ  as  to  the  wisdom  of  cultivating  these 
qualities  or  trying,  as  far  as  possible,  to  repress  them. 
On  the  one  side  we  shall  be  told  that  only  through  the 
full  development  of  these  special  characteristics  can 
the  most  complete  personality  of  this  individual  be  at- 
tained. On  the  other  we  shall  be  warned  that  this 
course  will  produce  a  warped  and  one-sided  character, 
lacking  in  all  that  belongs  to  a  well-rounded  ideal  of  a 
human  being. 

The  wholesome  attitude  of  the  parent  toward  his 
hopeful  son  is  that  in  all  probability  he  is  very  much 
like  other  boys,  a  puzzling  mixture  of  good  and  evil  pro- 
pensities, of  capacities  and  incapacities.  The  puzzle  is 
not  going  to  be  solved  by  any  rule  of  thumb,  by  any 
prescriptions  of  educational  experts.  It  is  going  to  un- 
tangle itself  gradually  through  the  growth  of  the  boy  in 
body  and  in  mind.  Sooner  or  later  the  boy  will  classify 
himself,  roughly  at  first,  more  precisely  afterward,  but 
this  process  of  classification  will  in  all  probability  be  a 
long  one.  It  will  probably  cover  a  period  much  longer 


52  LEARNING  AND  LIVING 

than  any  which  the  parent  has  in  view,  and  for  that 
reason  he  need  not  greatly  concern  himself  with  it.  He 
will  do  the  best  for  his  son  if  for  the  present  he  thinks 
of  him  as  quite  an  ordinary  human  being,  a  bundle  of 
possibilities,  but  not  much  more.  It  will  be  well  if  all 
the  evidence  of  his  phenomenal  qualities  during  the 
nursery  years  can  be  forgotten.  My  friend  the  Dean 
used  to  say:  "If  only  these  office  mothers  wouldn't  tell 
me  what  beautiful  babies  their  scapegrace  sons  used  to 
be!" 

A  word  here  as  to  expectations  arising  from  inheri- 
tance. The  man  of  business  who  sees  a  vision  of  his 
son  following  his  lead,  succeeding  to  his  own  interests 
and  building  up  the  fortunes  of  his  house  to  still  greater 
heights  is  a  familiar  figure  in  our  literature.  His  dis- 
appointments furnish  the  pathetic  element  in  many  a 
romance  of  American  life.  Even  more  pathetic  is  the 
attitude  of  the  man  of  learning,  the  scholar,  the  clergy- 
man, the  lawyer,  the  writer,  who  dreams  of  a  son  who 
shall  carry  on  still  further  the  tradition  he  has  made 
honorable.  Such  a  man  is  especially  likely  to  plan  the 
education  of  his  boy  from  the  beginning  with  a  view  to 
this  consummation.  He  assumes  that  the  same  impulse 
which  led  him  to  sacrifice  everything  to  the  cause  of 
learning  is  going  to  reappear  in  the  next  generation 
and  do  the  same  work.  Let  such  a  parent  stop  and  cast 
about  him  for  illustrations.  Here  and  there  is  a  family 
that  for  several  generations  has  seemed  marked  by  a 
striking  continuity  of  taste  and  capacity.  Certain 
special  aptitudes  "run"  as  we  say,  "in  the  family,"  but 
these  indications  do  not  go  very  far  as  guides  in  the 


WHAT  TO  DO  WITH  A  BOY?  53 

planning  of  a  boy's  school  life.  Far  safer  to  disregard 
them  and  treat  the  youth  as  a  very  commonplace  in- 
dividual, much  like  his  mates  in  the  average  of  his 
qualities,  however  much  he  may  seem  to  be  distin- 
guished from  them  by  certain  superiorities  or  certain 
defects.  Of  one  thing  the  parent  may  be  quite  sure: 
if  heredity,  through  the  accumulation  of  generations,  is 
going  to  affect  greatly  the  course  of  his  boy's  life  noth- 
ing that  he  can  do  will  have  very  much  effect  in  the 
long  result.  Our  knowledge  of  heredity  is  still  but  ele- 
mentary. Its  working  is  too  subtle  to  be  reduced  to  any 
workable  formulas.  As  we  watch  our  children  it  seems 
at  times  to  be  determining  absolutely  their  tastes  and 
their  accomplishments,  but  again  these  seem  to  be  just 
as  completely  opposite  to  everything  heredity  would 
lead  us  to  expect. 

To  say  that  we  often  confuse  the  influence  of  hered- 
ity with  that  of  environment  is  to  state  a  commonplace, 
but  the  remark  may  be  of  service  here.  In  a  condition 
of  society  where  class  distinctions  are  fairly  fixed,  the 
son  succeeds  the  father  almost  as  a  matter  of  course, 
and  then  we  say  that  the  son  inherits  the  tastes  and 
capacities  of  the  father.  In  reality  it  may  not  be  a  mat- 
ter of  inheritance  at  all,  but  only  the  perpetuation  of  a 
tradition  too  firmly  fixed  to  be  easily  changed.  It  is  a 
social  or  an  economic  phenomenon,  not  a  physical  or  a 
psychic  one.  At  the  present  time  one  may  almost  say 
that  there  are  no  such  fixed  traditions.  Classes  cross 
and  recross  with  the  utmost  freedom.  I  asked  a  fa- 
mous German  theologian  in  the  days  before  the  war 
whether  any  of  his  seven  children  were  preparing  to 


54  LEARNING  AND  LIVING 

follow  in  his  footsteps.  "Only  one,"  he  answered  sadly, 
"and  that  a  daughter.  The  boys  all  want  to  be  en- 
gineers!" A  few  days  ago  the  university  granted  a 
high  degree  in  theology  to  a  youth  who  had  begun  life 
as  an  engineer.  And  so  it  goes.  Heredity  may  deter- 
mine moral  qualities,  but  the  parent  who  should  allow 
his  mind  to  dwell  very  much  upon  the  possibilities  in 
this  respect  is  doomed  to  many  and  great  disappoint- 
ments. 

The  second  caution  touches  the  phrase  "  the  normal 
home."  To  enlarge  a  little  upon  the  brief  definition  al- 
ready given:  I  do  not  mean  a  home  which  is  in  any 
special  sense  a  center  of  light  and  leading,  where  the 
intellectual  life  is  specially  cultivated  or  even  where 
the  virtues  are  illustrated  with  any  special  brilliancy. 
The  more  of  all  these  good  things,  of  course,  the  better, 
but  the  absence  of  them  in  some  degree  does  not  dis- 
qualify the  home  as  the  place  where  the  boy  is  best  off 
during  those  formative  years  we  are  here  considering. 
His  parents  may  not  be  the  models  his  maturer  judg- 
ment would  select  as  the  best  for  him  to  follow.  This 
might  be  a  better  world  if  we  were  all  permitted  to  se- 
lect our  parents,  but  it  would  certainly  not  be  this 
world.  The  grim  fact  is  that  the  boy  belongs  to  these 
parents,  and  they  belong  to  him.  All  that  he  is  and  all 
that  he  has  comes  to  him  through  them.  He  begins  to 
see  the  world  through  their  eyes,  and  only  gradually 
comes  into  the  critical  attitude  toward  them.  He  en- 
ters from  the  start  into  the  motives  that  animate 
them,  he  shares  their  struggles  in  the  conflicts  of  life, 
feels  their  sacrifices,  understands  something  of  their 


WHAT  TO  DO  WITH  A  BOY?  55 

ambitions,  suffers  with  them  in  their  failures  and  tri- 
umphs in  their  successes.  His  measure  is  a  different 
one  from  theirs,  but  so  far  as  it  goes  its  standards  are 
the  same.  Everything  tends  to  deepen  and  strengthen 
the  impression  conveyed  by  the  one  phrase,  that  they 
belong  together. 

And  what  is  true  of  the  parents  is  equally  true  of  the 
place  in  which  the  boy's  lot  is  cast.  It  also  need  not 
provide  him  with  precisely  the  environment  he  would 
have  chosen,  but,  as  the  master  hand  of  English  ro- 
mance wrote,  "We  cannot  choose  our  duties,"  and  his 
duty  lies  here  and  not  elsewhere.  It  is  not  a  primary 
question  whether  the  place  of  his  origin  provides  a 
"best"  school  or  natural  surroundings  best  fitted  to 
give  him  scope  for  his  ranging  spirit,  or  great  libraries 
to  feed  his  curiosity,  or  a  society  that  may  —  or  may 
not  —  teach  him  the  manners  we  should  like  him  to 
have.  These  are  all  secondary  requirements.  The  es- 
sential point  is  that  this  is  where  the  boy  belongs.  He 
belongs  to  the  place  and  the  place  belongs  to  him,  for 
him  to  make  use  of  in  all  the  ways  his  growing  powers 
and  expanding  nature  demand.  It  is  a  false  pedagogy 
which  calls  upon  families  to  send  out  their  boys  search- 
ing by  external  processes  for  the  things  that  can  come 
only  through  the  awakening  of  the  inner  impulse,  and 
which,  if  that  impulse  is  once  awakened,  will  come.  It 
is  idle  for  the  dweller  in  a  cabin  to  push  his  boy  out 
looking  for  electric  lights  to  read  the  latest  and  best  by. 
Let  him  throw  a  pine  knot  on  the  open  fire  and  see 
what  the  boy  will  do  with  a  dogs-eared  primer  after  his 
day's  work  as  a  member  of  the  family ! 


56  LEARNING  AND  LIVING 

Exceptions?  Of  course  there  are.  Families  are 
broken  up;  homes  are  desolated  by  selfish  passions; 
fathers  lose  themselves  in  the  mad  race  for  more  and 
more  wealth  to  feed  the  insatiable  call  of  mothers  for 
more  spending.  Mothers  sink  into  the  empty  whirl  of 
"society"  and  make  the  word  "home"  a  travesty  of 
everything  it  ought  to  mean.  From  such  homes  as 
these  the  remote  school  may  be  deliverance.  Or  again, 
specific  requirements  for  admission  to  a  college  may 
make  a  year  or  two  of  residence  at  a  school  almost  im- 
perative. Provision  must  be  made  for  exceptional 
cases,  but  what  I  am  insisting  upon  is  that  the  separa- 
tion of  the  normal  boy  from  his  normal  home  should 
frankly  be  understood  as  an  exceptional  and  in  itself 
an  undesirable  thing. 

This  insistence  is  made  necessary  at  the  present 
time  because  there  is  a  widely  spread  and  growing 
sentiment  among  our  well-to-do  classes  that  precisely 
the  opposite  is  true.  The  boarding  school,  no  matter 
how  remote,  is  represented  as  the  ideal  place  for  the 
making  of  a  man.  The  local  school  is  scorned,  not 
primarily  because  it  is  inadequate,  but  simply  because 
it  is  local.  There  are  schools  with  long  waiting  lists 
upon  which  the  names  of  candidates  are  entered  as 
soon  as  they  are  born.  Not  to  succeed  in  placing  their 
boy  in  such  a  school  would  seem  to  these  parents  a 
failure  in  their  highest  duty  toward  him.  They  think 
of  it,  not  as  a  necessary  evil,  but  as  the  greatest  good. 
They  do  not  act  upon  a  reasoned  consideration  of 
what  the  boy  is  to  lose,  but  only  upon  a  vague  notion 
of  something  he  is  to  gain.  They  know  little  of  the 


WHAT  TO  DO  WITH  A  BOY?  57 

actual  conditions  of  boarding-school  life  and  are  prob- 
ably about  equally  ignorant  of  the  advantages  or 
otherwise  of  the  schools  near  at  hand.  They  are  gov- 
erned by  considerations  primarily  social,  and  "social" 
is  in  these  days  a  word  of  very  elastic  meaning. 

My  thesis  on  this  point  is  that  the  very  greatest 
"advantage  "  an  American  boy  can  have  is  to  strike 
his  roots  deep  down  into  the  soil  of  some  place  which 
he  can  call  his  own.  Every  gardener  knows  that  the 
worst  thing  you  can  do  in  a  dry  time  is  to  sprinkle  the 
surface  of  your  ground.  That  treatment  draws  the 
roots  upward,  and  exposes  them  to  the  blasting  rays  of 
the  pitiless  sun.  The  wise  gardener  stirs  the  surface 
and  only  at  long  intervals  digs  down  deep  beneath  the 
roots  and  fills  the  lower  earth  with  water  to  draw  the 
thirsty  roots  farther  and  farther  downward.  The  root 
system  of  a  man  responds  to  similar  treatment.  Keep 
the  tiny  fibres  near  the  surface  and  they  grow  con- 
stantly weaker;  send  them  down  into  the  moist,  cool 
spaces  of  the  under  soil,  and  they  will  gather  strength 
and  throw  out  new  branches  to  seek  still  new  life  and 
transmit  it  to  stem  and  leaf. 

It  is  of  the  highest  importance  to  the  future  citizen 
of  the  American  democracy  that  he  should  feel  him- 
self from  the  first  a  member  of  a  true  social  unit.  First 
of  the  family,  then  of  the  neighborhood,  then  of  the 
town  and  the  state.  I  say,  a  true  social  unit,  and  what 
makes  it  true  is  that  the  boy  comes  into  it  by  natural 
processes,  without  reflection  of  his  own  or  the  con- 
scious planning  of  any  one  else.  It  is  all  his,  just  as  his 
body  and  his  soul  are  his.  That  means  that  he  has  to- 


58  LEARNING  AND  LIVING 

ward  this  social  unit  certain  obligations.  As  a  member 
of  the  family  he  is  bound  to  help  in  carrying  forward 
the  work  of  the  home,  to  be  responsible  in  his  degree 
for  his  part  of  the  family  life.  As  a  member  of  the 
larger  community  he  is  bound  to  respect  its  laws,  to 
help  make  it  a  cleaner,  a  safer,  and  a  happier  place.  In 
a  natural  community,  where  there  is  wholesome  ming- 
ling of  industry  and  trade  and  rational  living,  the  boy 
feels  himself  from  his  earliest  years  part  and  parcel  of 
all  these  things.  The  movement  of  the  community 
catches  him  up  into  the  current  of  its  varied  life  and 
carries  him  on  to  happy  usefulness. 

Contrast  this  opportunity  with  that  of  the  best  en- 
dowed, best  equipped,  best  organized,  best  intentioned 
boarding  school.  After  all  that  can  be  said,  this  proud 
aggregation  of  "  bests "  is  an  institution,  and  the  boy 
adjusted  to  its  well-oiled  machinery  is  an  institution- 
alized being.  It  is  only  by  a  fiction  that  he  can  be 
called  a  "member"  of  the  institution  at  all.  To  be  a 
member  of  anything  means  to  be  a  living,  organic  part 
of  it,  with  functions  that  no  other  member  can  per- 
form, so  that  if  this  member  be  injured  the  function 
ceases,  and  "all  the  members  suffer  with  it."  Cut  off 
the  orphan  from  the  asylum  or  the  boy  from  the  board- 
ing school  and  nothing  happens,  but  if  the  boy  be  cut 
out  from  the  family,  or  the  neighborhood,  or  the  town, 
there  is  a  loss  that  can  never  quite  be  repaired.  The 
reason  is  that  the  boarding  school  has  no  soil  for  the 
roots  that  go  to  nourish  the  life  of  the  individual  as  a 
member  of  a  true  community.  The  youth  entrusted  to 
its  fostering  care  may  be  supplied  from  above  and  from 


WHAT  TO  DO  WITH  A  BOY?  59 

without  with  all  the  nourishment  for  body  and  soul  he 
seems  to  require,  but  the  tap-roots  will  not  run  down 
far  because  there  is  no  water  there. 

It  is  a  singular  fact  that  institutionalism  in  educa- 
tion should  have  taken  on  such  an  extraordinary  de- 
velopment at  the  very  time  when  it  is  being  repudiated 
in  every  other  field  of  social  effort.  Our  organizations 
for  charity  and  for  the  physical  and  mental  welfare  of 
the  community  have  long  since  come  to  see  that  the 
best  results  are  obtained  by  distributing  the  persons 
needing  help  as  widely  as  possible.  We  do  not  now 
send  the  dependent  orphan  into  an  "asylum,"  but  into 
a  family.  We  do  this  precisely  because  we  want  him  to 
feel  the  pressure  of  necessity  in  the  supply  of  his  daily 
wants.  We  do  not  wish  him  to  have  food  and  clothing 
shed  upon  him  like  the  gentle  rain  from  heaven;  we 
want  him  to  take  his  little  part  in  the  struggle  for 
existence.  The  older  method  we  stigmatize  as  "pauper- 
izing." Only  in  the  education  of  our  "best"  youths  we 
are  more  than  ready  to  pauperize.  We  deliberately  de- 
prive them  of  the  very  advantages  we  are  so  anxious  to 
give  to  our  really  dependent  classes.  We  pull  them  out 
of  the  natural  relations  into  which  they  are  happily 
born  and  set  them  into  highly  organized  mechanisms, 
expecting  these  to  do  the  work  of  the  free  but  dis- 
ciplined will. 

But  here  we  are  met  by  the  argument  from  England. 
Time  out  of  mind,  we  are  told,  English  boys  have  been 
sent  away  from  home  as  early  as  possible,  at  the  age  of 
ten  or  twelve,  and  they  have  grown  into  the  men  who 
have  made  England  great.  Moreover  these  men  have 


60  LEARNING  AND  LIVING 

not  ceased  to  be  home  lovers  and  home  makers;  they 
have  gone  on  generation  after  generation  building  those 
English  homes  which  have  become  the  home  ideal  for 
all  the  peoples  of  the  earth.  The  argument  sounds  con- 
vincing, but  like  most  comparisons  with  foreign  cus- 
toms, it  does  not  prove  very  instructive.  There  are  too 
many  sides  to  it,  too  many  questions  bound  up  with  it. 
The  English  society  which  has  sent  its  infant  sons 
away  to  school  has  always  been  in  its  essentials  a  rural 
and  aristocratic  society.  It  could  not  keep  its  boys  at 
home  and  educate  them  in  day  schools  for  the  simple 
reason  that  such  schools  did  not  exist.  The  public 
school  in  our  sense  of  the  word  is  a  recent  institu- 
tion in  England,  and  so  far  has  had  but  slight  effect 
upon  the  general  sentiment  as  to  what  is  best  for  a 
boy. 

The  English  "public  school"  is  above  all  else  a  social 
institution.  The  public  which  supports  it  desires  to 
keep  its  sons  aloof  from  those  of  another  "class"  by 
placing  them  where  they  will  meet  only,  or  chiefly, 
youths  of  their  own  kind.  Do  we  really  wish  to  import 
this  ideal  into  American  life?  If  we  do,  let  us  acknowl- 
edge it  frankly  and  not  pretend  to  be  leading  the  world 
in  democratic  feeling  and  practice.  The  conditions 
that  produced  the  English  system  do  not  exist  here. 
Our  social  standards,  so  far  as  we  have  any,  are  not 
rural  but  distinctly  urban.  To  speak  of  a  man  as  "in- 
land bred"  does  not  convey  quite  the  impression  of 
culture  in  America  that  it  did  in  Shakespeare's  Eng- 
land. The  city  here  does  not  imitate  the  country,  but 
the  reverse.  "Back  to  the  land"  means  with  us  to 


WHAT  TO  DO  WITH  A  BOY?  61 

import  into  the  country  the  standards  of  life  we  have 
learned  to  demand  in  the  city.  It  is  one  of  the  results  of 
this  demand  that  our  public  free  schools  have  pene- 
trated, at  least  in  theory,  into  every  corner.  Happily 
the  wholesome  practice  among  the  "best  people"  of 
sending  their  sons  to  these  schools  has  gone  far  to  make 
them  in  a  very  true  sense  a  social  institution  as  well  as 
an  agency  of  learning.  They  have  commanded  a  type 
of  loyalty  in  every  way  comparable  to  that  called  out 
by  the  English  school  or  by  the  private  schools  which 
have  grown  up  to  supplement  them  here. 

We  are  not  driven,  therefore,  as  Englishmen  have 
been,  to  send  our  sons  away  in  order  to  have  them  as 
well  taught  as  the  standards  of  our  society  require,  and 
more  than  this  no  system  of  education  anywhere  can 
be  asked  to  provide.  The  boy  in  an  American  home 
learns  to  know  the  friends  of  his  family.  He  listens  to 
the  conversation  of  his  elders  and  his  superiors;  he 
knows  what  public  events  are  interesting  them  and 
comes  to  feel  that  he  has  his  part  in  them.  Best  of  all, 
he  grows  up  in  natural  and  wholesome  relations  with 
women,  young  and  old.  The  sacred  mystery  of  sex  im- 
presses him  long  before  he  knows  what  it  means,  and  in 
those  critical  years  when  he  is  first  feeling  its  compell- 
ing allurement  he  is  given  a  sweet  and  healthful  senti- 
ment about  it  that  may  hold  him  upright  through 
many  a  storm  of  later  temptation.  There  can  be  no 
safeguard  for  the  youth  so  powerful  as  the  constant 
thought  of  the  women  who  have  surrounded  and  beau- 
tified his  childhood.  That  is  an  influence  which  the 
school  cannot  supply. 


62  LEARNING  AND  LIVING 

So  I  say:  keep  the  boy  at  home,  but  make  the  home  a 
consecrated  place  worthy  of  the  high  mission  to  which 
it  is  called.  Alarmists  are  calling  our  attention  to  the 
dangers  which  to-day  seem  to  threaten  the  very  exist- 
ence of  our  homes,  and  it  is  idle  to  deny  that  there  are 
powerful  and  subtle  influences  at  work  to  undermine 
those  sanctities  on  which  the  homes  of  the  past  were 
built.  But,  as  one  looks  about,  one  sees  a  steady  flow  of 
young  lives  launching  out  into  the  untried  responsi- 
bilities of  the  future  with  the  same  courage,  the  same 
devotion,  the  same  high  hopes  that  sustained  their 
fathers  and  mothers,  and  one  feels  the  right  to  assume 
that  the  homes  they  are  going  to  found  will  be  indeed 
consecrated  places  where  childhood  will  find  its  best 
development. 

Let  the  home  be  a  sanctuary  of  tenderness,  but  not  of 
softness.  Give  the  boy  all  the  freedom  of  motion  that  a 
young  growing  organism  demands.  Let  him  make  his 
own  mistakes  and,  within  reasonable  limits,  take  the 
consequences,  but  let  him  feel  that  his  home  is  the  sure 
haven  to  which  he  may  always  return  and  where  he  is 
certain  to  find  his  ideals  of  justice  and  sympathy.  Let 
him  choose  his  own  friends,  but  supply  him  always 
with  the  standards  that  shall  help  him  to  choose  them 
wisely.  His  school  will  give  him  all  needed  security 
against  the  perils  of  coddling.  The  local  school  forms 
for  him  another  center  of  interest  and  affection,  and 
year  by  year  the  discipline  of  contact  with  his  mates  in 
the  free  give  and  take  of  school  life  will  develop  his 
independence  of  thought  and  action.  Home  and  school 
work  thus  naturally  together,  carrying  the  boy  along 


WHAT  TO  DO  WITH  A  BOY?  63 

up  to  his  sixteenth  or  seventeenth  year  in  a  harmonious 
development  of  his  capacities  and  his  affections.  By 
that  time  he  will  be  getting  restless,  and  he  ought  to  be. 
The  limitations  of  school,  the  routine  of  home  will 
begin  to  gall  him  a  little,  and  then  comes  the  time  to 
put  to  the  test  all  that  has  been  done  for  him  hitherto. 
Then  he  must  spread  his  wings  and  fly,  but  not  till 
then. 

I  wish  that  by  what  I  have  said  so  far  I  might  have 
convinced  some  American  parents  that  their  boys  will 
be  better  off  at  home  than  in  any  possible  remote  in- 
stitution, but  I  am  aware  how  strong  the  appeal  of  the 
highly  organized  and  amply  advertised  establishment 
is.  Not  every  parent  has  the  rugged  sense  of  the  western 
father  who  made  a  careful  inquiry  into  his  son's  con- 
duct of  life  in  a  great  eastern  college  because  he  "didn't 
want  to  be  spending  two  thousand  dollars  a  year  on  a 
two  dollar  boy."  The  typical  American  father  is  more 
than  willing  to  spend  money,  and  the  typical  mother  of 
every  race  is  ready  to  spend  her  affections  as  the  price 
of  bringing  a  man  into  the  world.  I  asked  the  head  of  a 
famous  boarding  school  whether  the  majority  of  par- 
ents sent  him  their  boys  gladly.  "No"  he  replied  "to 
most  of  them  it  is  a  heart-breaking  experience.  They 
do  it  because  they  believe  it  is  best  for  the  boy."  The 
same  master  assured  me  that  the  chief  obstacle  to  the 
entire  success  of  his  school  in  stamping  upon  its  boys  a 
definite  school  hall-mark  was  the  unfortunate  incident 
of  vacations.  For  some  months  of  the  year  the  boys 
were  allowed  to  feel  that  they  had  families,  homes, 
relatives,  friends,  native  towns  and  other  inconvenient 


64  LEARNING  AND  LIVING 

belongings  not  always  in  entire  harmony  with  the  free- 
masonry of  the  school. 

So  we  are  not  dealing  with  an  imaginary  danger. 
From  both  sides,  from  the  side  of  the  community  and 
from  that  of  the  schools  the  ideal  of  a  separated  school 
life  for  boys  of  twelve  to  eighteen  is  in  fact  being  pre- 
sented to  our  people.  It  is  commending  itself,  not  by 
any  scientific  definition,  but  by  the  subtle  process  of 
social  distinction  and  through  the  thinly  disguised 
imitation  of  foreign  ways.  Its  attraction  can  be  coun- 
teracted only  by  strengthening  in  every  way  the  con- 
viction here  expressed,  that,  ideal  for  ideal,  the  very 
theory  of  such  an  institution  is  a  false  one,  and  that  for 
the  normal  American  boy  up  to  the  age  of  seventeen 
the  best  place  is  a  normal  American  home. 

So  far  we  have  been  speaking  of  ideals;  but  it  must 
be  confessed  that  circumstances  often  arise  which  com- 
pel a  departure  from  the  ideal.  Many  homes  are  not 
normal,  and  are  not  likely  to  become  so.  Day  schools 
even  tolerably  adequate  are  not  everywhere  acces- 
sible. There  is  a  legitimate  sense  in  which  the  query 
we  are  trying  to  answer  becomes  a  pressing  one  and 
must  be  answered.  I  visited  in  a  military  school  not 
far  from  New  York  a  class  of  thirty  boys  of  from  four- 
teen to  nineteen  studying,  for  the  first  time  in  their 
lives,  the  geography  of  the  United  States.  These  boys, 
some  with  bass  voices,  did  not  know  where  the  Mis- 
sissippi river  was,  nor  what  states  touched  its  banks. 
In  answer  to  my  inquiry,  in  what  uncivilized  corner  of 
the  world  they  had  spent  their  early  years  the  Principal 
replied:  "  Most  of  them  come  from  New  York  City,  and 


WHAT  TO  DO  WITH  A  BOY?  65 

if  I  should  tell  you  their  names  you  would  be  still  more 
surprised."  "The  fact  is"  he  went  on  to  say,  "their 
fathers  are  too  busy  with  business  and  their  mothers 
too  busy  with  pleasure  to  know  much  about  them. 
They  are  handed  over  to  nurses  and  governesses  until, 
all  of  a  sudden,  the  parents  wake  up  to  the  idea  that 
their  children  are  growing  up  in  ignorance.  Then  they 
look  about  for  schools,  and  we  get  our  share." 

Nor  can  it  be  denied  that,  in  spite  of  all  the  cautions 
we  have  been  urging,  there  are  boys  in  whom  some 
peculiar  quality  of  mind  or  character  makes  separation 
from  home  at  an  age  earlier  than  the  college  period 
desirable.  It  may,  then,  be  helpful  to  some  anxious 
parent  lost  in  the  maze  of  glittering  advertisements 
that  embellish  the  pages  of  our  magazines,  to  hear, 
even  from  one  who  claims  no  authority  whatever  for 
his  information  or  his  judgments,  a  brief  classification 
of  the  types  of  school  offered  for  his  choice.  In  making 
this  survey  we  shall  follow  as  nearly  as  may  be  the  or- 
der suggested  by  the  resemblance  of  the  several  school 
types  to  the  ideal  we  have  set  forth  above. 

To  come  as  nearly  as  possible  to  the  conditions  of  a 
good  day  school  in  the  boy's  own  town,  it  may  be 
worth  remembering  that  in  many  cities  there  are  excel- 
lent public  high  schools  to  which  a  non-resident  pupil 
may  be  admitted  for  a  very  modest  fee,  and  that  in 
such  a  city  it  is  often  possible  to  find  a  family  where  the 
boy  can  be  placed  under  conditions  so  closely  resem- 
bling those  of  his  home  that  in  all  outward  respects  the 
difference  is  hardly  worth  remarking.  It  is  not,  to  be 
sure,  his  own  place,  but  it  becomes  his  by  adoption. 


66  LEARNING  AND  LIVING 

He  is  in  a  home,  though  it  be  an  adopted  one;  he  has 
the  natural  surroundings  of  an  orderly  society;  he  is 
under  the  wholesome  restraints  of  a  community  whose 
interests  he  may  learn  to  share.  The  unspeakable  loss 
of  his  own  family  life  is  made  up  to  him  by  substitutes 
which  are  not  purely  fictitious  and  are  as  far  as  possible 
from  being  institutional.  I  do  not  hesitate  to  say  that, 
if  the  boy  must  go  away,  this  device  is  likely  to  give  as 
good  results  as  any  other. 

The  type  of  institutional  school  which  comes  nearest 
to  the  local  public  or  private  day  school  is  that  vener- 
able New  England  product,  the  country  or  town  acad- 
emy. It  is  not  confined  to  New  England,  but  wherever 
found  it  partakes  of  the  character  given  to  it  in  the 
older  communities  of  the  East.  It  owes  its  foundation 
often  to  the  piety  of  some  private  citizen  who  gave  to 
it  the  modest  endowment  that  carried  it  through  the 
early  years  of  its  strictly  local  usefulness.  It  served 
ordinarily  as  a  day  school  for  the  town,  but  received 
pupils  from  the  neighboring  country  at  a  low  rate  of 
tuition.  It  might  or  might  not  have  dormitories  of  its 
own.  The  traditional  method  of  caring  for  the  outside 
pupils  was  to  house  them  with  worthy  citizens  who 
were  expected  to  stand  in  loco  parentis  to  them.  How- 
ever diligent  such  supervision  might  be  there  was  al- 
ways a  certain  sense  of  freedom  and  its  accompanying 
responsibility  that  had  their  educative  influence  upon 
the  growing  boy. 

Even  more,  perhaps,  than  our  colleges  these  old 
country  academies  have  contributed  powerfully  to  the 
intellectual  life  of  their  several  communities.  As  time 


WHAT  TO  DO  WITH  A  BOY?  67 

went  on  and  the  wave  of  sentiment  in  favor  of  free 
public  instruction  swept  over  the  land  these  ancient 
foundations  were  in  danger  of  being  completely  over- 
shadowed or  replaced  by  the  local  high  schools.  That 
they  have  not  entirely  disappeared  is  owing  to  the 
good  sense  with  which  they  have  been  adapted  to  the 
needs  of  the  time.  Their  endowments,  often  increased 
by  the  gifts  of  successful  sons,  have  been  applied  to  en- 
large their  equipment  and  thus  make  them  more  at- 
tractive to  pupils  from  abroad.  On  the  other  hand  the 
towns  fortunate  enough  to  have  such  an  institution 
among  their  assets  have  contributed  to  its  usefulness  by 
adopting  it  as  the  local  high  school,  paying  it  for  the 
work  of  instruction  required  by  the  laws  of  the  state. 

In  quite  recent  times  many  of  these  older  schools 
have  grown  with  almost  dangerous  rapidity.  Endow- 
ments have  been  provided  for  them,  and  the  increasing 
resort  has  enabled  them  to  establish  tuition  fees  com- 
mensurate with  the  ever  increasing  demands.  The 
interesting  thing  in  the  development  of  these  old  acad- 
emies is  that  on  the  whole  they  have  retained  a  great 
deal  of  their  original  character  as  representatives  of  a 
sound  local  sentiment.  Some  of  them  have  become 
places  of  national  resort,  and  in  the  process  have  not 
escaped  the  inevitable  temptations  to  laxity  and  excess. 
These  dangers,  however,  have  been  perceived  in  time 
and  for  the  most  part  have  been  overcome.  Without 
abandoning  the  traditions  of  freedom  wise  restraints 
have  been  provided,  unwholesome  tendencies  checked 
and  rational  standards  of  living  and  working  main- 
tained. The  famous  dictum  of  the  honored  head  of  one 


68  LEARNING  AND  LIVING 

such  school  in  his  address  to  new  pupils:  "There  are 
no  rules  here  until  they  are  broken ! "  expresses  well  the 
spirit  of  liberty  in  order  which  has  marked  the  whole 
history  of  these  typical  products  of  our  early,  largely 
rural  society. 

In  a  school  of  this  type  the  restraints  are  in  many 
ways  comparable  to  those  of  a  well-ordered  home.  Just 
as  in  the  home  it  is  not  the  restraint  of  rule  and  com- 
pulsion that  really  helps  in  the  upbuilding  of  personal 
character,  but  is  rather  the  wise  direction  of  a  large 
liberty,  so,  in  the  easy  and  natural  life  of  a  half  rural 
community  there  are  restraints  felt  more  or  less  uncon- 
sciously which  may  work  in  the  same  way.  Doubtless 
the  evils  of  a  small  community  are  often  greater  than 
those  of  a  larger  one,  but  there  is  always  the  whole- 
some corrective  of  publicity,  and  the  boy  who  can 
persistently  defy  that  is  sure  to  have  a  pretty  hard 
time  of  it  wherever  he  is.  The  sentiment  underlying 
the  country  academy,  as  it  still  exists  in  the  older  parts 
of  our  country  is  one  of  the  most  admirable  incentives 
to  honest  work  and  cleanly  living.  It  is  doing  well  and 
is  likely  to  do  better  under  the  new  impulses  of  our 
active  day.  A  boy  placed  under  its  influence  is  saved 
from  a  premature  cosmopolitanism  and  is  brought  into 
a  healthy  competition  with  other  youths  whose  oppor- 
tunities in  life  may  have  been  greatly  superior  to  his 
own.  Those  who  are  responsible  for  him  may  safely 
feel  that  in  sending  him  thither  they  are  giving  him  a 
rational  substitute  for  a  boyhood  at  home. 

Out  of  this  class  of  local,  rural  academies  there  has 
been  developed  a  group  of  large  and  highly  organized 


WHAT  TO  DO  WITH  A  BOY?  69 

schools  generally  distinguished  by  the  unfortunate 
name  of  "fitting  schools."  The  name  is  unfortunate 
because  it  emphasizes  one  function  of  the  school  in  its 
relation  to  a  higher  grade  of  instruction  rather  than  its 
own  proper  mission  as  a  preparation  for  life.  It  calls 
attention  too  sharply  and  too  exclusively  to  the  stand- 
ard of  success  represented  by  the  passing  of  examina- 
tions for  entrance  to  college  and  tends  to  diminish  in 
porportion  all  effort  not  directed  to  this  end.  Our 
American  education  can  never  take  the  place  it  ought 
to  hold  among  the  educational  systems  of  the  world 
until  each  of  its  grades  has  a  standard  of  its  own  set 
firmly  upon  the  basis  of  the  specific  work  it  has  to  do. 
Elsewhere  such  standards  are  fixed  by  some  supreme 
authority  which  represents  on  the  whole  the  ripest 
judgment  of  those  best  qualified  to  judge.  Here  there 
is  no  such  authority,  and  we  can  only  be  thankful  that 
we  have  so  far  escaped  the  kind  of  standardization  we 
must  have  had  if  it  had  been  entrusted  to  the  kind  of 
tribunals  we  should  have  been  sure  to  create.  Mean- 
while the  only  safe  method  of  securing  passable  results 
in  the  lower  grades  is  to  pull  them  up  by  some  pressure 
from  above.  To  fit  the  higher  to  the  lower  is  to  drag 
the  whole  structure  down  to  disastrous  failure. 

The  "fitting  school,"  whether  we  like  the  phrase  or 
not  is,  therefore,  a  reality  in  our  educational  scheme. 
The  problem  of  those  who  have  it  in  charge  is  to  make 
it  so  worthy  a  thing  in  itself  that  it  will  command  the 
respect  of  the  community,  not  primarily  because  it  "is 
sure  to  get  the  boy  into  college,"  but  because  it  is  a 
good  place  for  a  boy  to  learn  to  be  a  man.  This  prob- 


70  LEARNING  AND  LIVING 

lem  has  been  clearly  perceived  by  far  seeing  managers. 
A  few  years  ago  we  were  told  with  very  great  authority 
that  our  colleges  were  in  danger  of  being  wiped  out  of 
existence  by  the  growth  of  such  schools  as  these  on  the 
one  hand  and  the  professional  schools  on  the  other. 
This  calamity  has  not  happened,  and  we  hear  but  little 
about  it  now.  The  warning  interests  us  only  as  show- 
ing that  the  greater  academies  were  becoming  to  a 
threatening  extent  the  resort  of  boys  whose  liberal 
education  was  to  end  there.  In  other  words  that  they 
were  to  that  degree  not  "fitting  schools"  in  the  usual 
sense,  but  independent  institutions  with  standards 
that  appealed  to  a  considerable  public.  That  is  as  it 
should  be.  The  parent  seeking  the  best  resort  for  his 
boy  will  feel  himself  freer  in  his  choice  if  he  is  not  re- 
stricted to  the  idea  of  getting  him  "fitted"  to  the  re- 
quirements of  college.  And  the  school,  on  the  other 
hand,  will  be  strengthened  in  its  whole  attitude  by  the 
demand  of  the  colleges  for  the  very  best  it  can  do  to 
satisfy  them. 

To  say  that  the  older  academies  are  the  outgrowth 
of  the  early  New  England  spirit  is  only  another  way  of 
saying  that  they  had  at  first  predominantly  a  religious 
character.  They  were  but  another  expression  of  the 
uncompromising  independence  of  New  England  Con- 
gregationalism, and  that  temper  they  have  still  largely 
preserved.  Some  of  them  have  remained  under  a 
nominal  denominational  control,  but  even  there  the 
spirit  of  independence  has  been  working  with  decisive 
effect.  From  time  to  time  the  religious  organization 
may  make  a  vigorous  effort  to  give  to  its  schools  a  pre- 


WHAT  TO  DO  WITH  A  BOY?  71 

dominantly  sectarian  character;  but  the  happy  in- 
ability of  any  denomination  in  these  days  to  bring  all 
of  its  members  under  any  one  description  of  faith  is 
sure  to  prevent  any  such  dragooning  of  the  schools. 
There  is  a  religious  body  in  New  England  which  has  its 
academy,  its  college  and  its  theological  seminary.  The 
academy  is  expected  to  feed  the  college  and  the  college 
to  feed  the  seminary,  and  then  in  turn  the  seminary  is 
expected  to  furnish  teachers  both  to  the  college  and  the 
academy.  It  is  a  scheme  of  intellectual  inbreeding 
cleverly  calculated  to  ruin  the  mind  and  corrupt  the 
soul  of  the  denomination  that  controls  it.  Happily, 
however,  it  does  not  work.  The  demand  for  excellence 
in  each  stage  of  education  is  too  great. 

An  academy  which  should  surrender  itself  to  any 
such  combination  would  find  itself  lagging  behind  in  all 
the  competitions  that  test  its  quality,  and  there  would 
soon  be  enough  clear-sighted  men  in  the  denomina- 
tional ranks  to  insist  upon  fresh  blood  and  a  larger 
ideal.  Indeed,  the  more  strict  the  nominal  control  of  a 
denomination,  the  more  loudly  its  leaders  to-day  are 
wont  to  claim  for  it  a  thoroughly  liberal  administra- 
tive policy.  It  is  safe  to  say  that  in  the  great  academies 
of  the  East  the  denominational  element  is  of  little  ac- 
count so  far  as  the  instruction  and  discipline  of  the 
place  are  concerned.  It  is  brought  out  on  state  oc- 
casions as  a  means  of  appealing  to  the  loyalty  of  grad- 
uates and  others  upon  whom  its  material  support  de- 
pends, but  it  may  well  be  questioned  whether  a  boy  not 
verystr  ong  on  his  catechism  would  know  whether  he 
were  under  Baptist  or  Methodist  or  Congregationalist 


72  LEARNING  AND  LIVING 

or  even  Unitarian  influence.  It  is  greatly  to  the  credit 
of  all  concerned  that,  on  the  whole,  the  main  effort  of 
the  past  generation  has  been  to  make  good  schools 
rather  than  to  hold  them  within  precise  theological 
limits.  There  have  been  notable  rights,  but  the  tend- 
ency is  clear.  With  an  increasing  supply  of  well-trained 
teachers,  not  produced  by  theological  seminaries,  these 
well-endowed  schools  have  been  able  to  pick  their  men. 
They  have  been  learning  to  respect  the  scholarly  am- 
bitions of  their  teachers  and  thus  to  raise  the  tone  of 
their  own  scholarship.  It  is  a  pleasure  to  record  here 
the  extraordinary  insight  and  self-control  of  the  late 
Dwight  L.  Moody  in  the  management  of  his  school  at 
Mt.  Hermon,  Mass.  Although  a  religious  place  in  a 
very  emphatic  sense,  this  school  gave  to  its  teachers 
and  its  pupils  a  freedom  of  thought  and  action  quite  in 
advance  of  that  allowed  at  many  a  place  of  larger 
opportunity  and  loftier  pretensions. 

So  far  as  the  scholarly  side  of  the  question  is  con- 
cerned parents  need  have  no  hesitation  in  entrusting 
their  boys  to  any  of  the  schools  we  have  here  been  try- 
ing to  describe.  The  question  of  discipline,  taking  that 
word  in  its  widest  meaning,  is  the  serious  one.  The 
principle  of  largest  liberty,  absolutely  sound  in  the 
abstract,  has  to  be  administered,  in  the  case  of  boys 
under  eighteen  with  the  greatest  caution.  A  boy  of 
fourteen  —  not  to  say  of  twelve  —  dropped  into  a  com- 
munity of  from  one  to  four  or  five  hundred  youngsters 
is  put  upon  a  strain  for  which  a  previous  tempering  is 
an  essential.  If  the  experiment  works  well,  it  may  work 
very  well;  if  ill,  very  ill  indeed.  The  sound  nature 


WHAT  TO  DO  WITH  A  BOY?  73 

meets  the  strain  and  grows  stronger  under  it.  The 
feeble  will,  the  pleasure-loving,  self-indulgent  tempera- 
ment, not  roused  to  interest  either  in  work  or  play,  is 
lost  in  such  a  place.  If  the  boy  ever  finds  himself  it  will 
be  through  the  awakening  of  some  impulse  drawn  out 
by  the  eager  young  life  around  him. 

The  best  that  can  be  said  of  the  discipline  of  a  great 
academy  is  that  it  is  based  upon  the  natural  and  spon- 
taneous working  of  young  human  instincts,  with  faith 
that  they  will  justify  themselves  if  let  alone.  Of  course 
the  application  of  this  principle  will  vary  greatly  in  dif- 
ferent hands.  There  is  enough  that  is  distinctive  in  it 
to  mark  off  the  large  schools  where  it  prevails  into  a 
class  by  themselves.  The  parent  who  selects  such  a 
place  for  his  boy  must  do  so  with  the  full  consciousness 
that  the  boy  has  his  own  salvation  to  work  out.  Such 
a  school  has  no  formula  for  the  making  of  a  man.  It 
will  take  the  boy,  keep  him  at  work,  give  him  a  chance 
to  play,  take  care  of  his  health  and  bring  him  up  short 
when  he  has  gone  too  far  out  of  the  straight  way.  But 
it  is  not  seeking  to  put  a  stamp  on  him.  It  has  no 
stamp  which  it  recognizes  as  a  guarantee  of  quality.  It 
is  satisfied  if  he  does  his  work,  keeps  his  health  and 
goes  no  farther  wrong  than  he  can  make  good  by  re- 
pentance and  honest  effort. 

This  brings  us  naturally  to  another  category  of 
schools,  which  differ  from  the  great  academies  chiefly 
in  the  fact  that  they  do,  more  or  less  avowedly,  seek  to 
impress  upon  their  pupils  a  certain  stamp.  These 
schools  are  in  connection  with  the  Protestant  Episcopal 
Church  in  America,  but  are  not,  as  a  rule,  under  its 


74  LEARNING  AND  LIVING 

official  control.  Their  principals  and  many  of  their 
teachers  are  men  who  have  advanced  to  one  or  an- 
other stage  of  that  ministry.  Their  religious  services 
are  conducted  under  the  forms  of  the  Anglican  wor- 
ship, and  whatever  religious  influence  they  have  is 
toward  conformity  with  these  traditions.  We  may, 
therefore,  without  prejudice  describe  them  as  Church 
Schools. 

They  have  also  another  quality  which  marks  them 
off  into  a  class  by  themselves:  they  are  based  very 
largely  on  English  models.  Their  vocabulary  is  en- 
riched with  English  words,  they  encourage  the  English 
spirit  in  their  sports;  they  have  to  a  greater  or  less  ex- 
tent the  English  theories  of  self-government  among 
the  boys.  Unsympathetic  critics  would  find  in  all  these 
matters  a  certain  danger  of  affectation.  Doubtless 
each  and  all  of  these  schools  would  repel  with  some  heat 
the  charge  of  Anglicanism  or  of  exclusive  sectarian  in- 
fluence. They  would  defend  their  Americanism  and 
their  liberality  in  religious  matters  to  the  last  breath. 
And  in  this  defense  they  would  be  perfectly  honest. 
Their  directors  are  not  foolish  enough  to  imagine  that 
American  boys  can  be  made  into  English  men,  or  that 
any  one  type  of  religious  life  can  be  made  to  include  all 
that  there  is  of  hope  and  safety  for  the  future  of  our 
society.  The  day  is  gone  by  when  a  school  aiming  at 
the  largest  usefulness  could  venture  to  require  of  all  its 
pupils  more  than  a  formal  conformity  to  its  religious 
usages  or  make  itself  the  agent  of  any  very  active 
propaganda. 

Still  the  fact  remains,  that  the  group  of  schools  we 


WHAT  TO  DO  WITH  A  BOY?  75 

are  now  considering  has,  in  a  sense  quite  different  from 
the  other  groups,  a  fairly  definite  ideal  to  which  it 
would  be  glad,  if  it  could,  to  make  its  pupils  conform. 
The  Church  School  is  not  quite  satisfied  that  its  grad- 
uates should  have  learned  "  to  speak  the  truth  and  ride 
horseback."  It  would  like  to  fix  upon  their  minds  a 
certain  definite  form  of  truth  and  to  see  them  riding 
horseback  after  a  model  approved  by  a  great  and  an- 
cient, even  if  it  be  a  measurably  foreign,  tradition.  It 
will  not  force  these  things  upon  them;  it  will  honestly 
refrain  from  prescriptions  and  directions  which  might 
call  attention  too  sharply  to  the  end  in  view.  But,  on 
the  other  hand,  it  would  be  unfaithful  to  its  trust,  if  it 
did  not,  by  every  proper  means,  in  the  thousand  and 
one  little  details  of  daily  life,  gently  and  steadily  build 
up  in  the  mind  of  the  boy  the  ideal  it  has  set  before 
itself. 

Much  more  easily  than  the  old-fashioned  free 
academies,  the  Church  School  may  come  to  regard  it- 
self as  a  desirable  substitute  for  even  the  best  of  homes. 
It  aims  to  get  its  boys  young,  so  that,  in  their  tenderest 
years,  while  the  affections  of  the  child  are  still  active, 
it  may  win  him  to  its  plan  and  stamp  its  mark  inef- 
faceably  upon  him.  It  aims  to  make  his  relation  to  the 
school  the  governing  thing  in  his  life.  Its  tendency  is 
to  make  him  sink  his  individuality  in  the  school  ideal, 
to  work  for  that  and  through  that.  The  principle  of 
liberty  must  necessarily  play  a  lesser  part  in  such  a 
plan  of  school  life  as  this,  and  that  is  really  what  the 
parent  has  to  consider  when  he  is  thinking  what  to  do 
with  his  boy.  It  is  not  a  question  of  this  or  that  little 


76  LEARNING  AND  LIVING 

matter  of  detail  in  study  or  discipline,  but  whether,  on 
the  whole,  he  desires  to  place  his  boy  under  the  exper- 
iment of  fitting  him  to  any  given  ideal  standard  what- 
ever. He  may  comfort  himself  with  the  reflection  that 
his  boy  will  be  strong  enough  to  stand  the  strain  or, 
perhaps,  indifferent  enough  not  to  perceive  that  any 
strain  exists.  But  then  comes  the  further  question, 
whether  the  reaction  against  a  system  which,  if  not 
successful,  must  appear  tyrannical,  would  not  be  a 
doubtful  blessing  to  a  growing  boy.  Under  conditions 
of  greater  freedom  the  youth  who  finds  himself  chafed 
by  one  or  another  feature  of  his  school  discipline  can 
probably  adjust  himself  without  great  difficulty;  but 
in  the  Church  School  the  system  as  a  whole  counts  for 
so  much,  that,  if  it  once  began  to  gall,  it  seems  as  if  life 
under  it  would  hardly  be  tolerable  to  a  boy  of  inde- 
pendent spirit. 

On  the  other  hand,  it  cannot  be  denied  that,  if  one 
does  respond  to  it,  the  attraction  of  the  Anglican  ideal 
is  very  great.  The  regular  and  orderly  movement  of 
this  mass  of  well-meaning  lads  from  their  uprising  in 
the  morning,  through  all  the  routine  of  study  and  play 
to  their  lying  down  at  night,  without  friction  and  with 
utter  good  feeling  is  a  most  charming  thing  to  look 
upon.  Even  the  absence  of  that  occasional  solitude 
which  many  believe  to  be  one  of  the  most  essential 
elements  in  the  making  of  a  sound  imagination,  may 
be  overlooked  in  the  wonderful  charm  of  the  whole. 
Such  schools  have  generally  been  fairly  endowed  and 
through  tuition  fees  higher,  doubtless,  than  their 
directors  could  wish,  have  been  able  to  maintain  a 


WHAT  TO  DO  WITH  A  BOY?  77 

standard  of  simple  refinement  of  living  which  seems  to 
reflect  or  to  surpass  the  standards  of  the  best  homes. 

As  to  scholarship,  the  danger  which  we  have  already 
described  as  "inbreeding"  lies  especially  near  to  the 
avowedly  Church  School.  Happily  various  causes 
have  contributed  to  prevent  this  danger  from  becom- 
ing serious.  For  one  thing,  these  schools  have  been 
anxious  to  draw  pupils  from  as  wide  an  area  of  popula- 
tion as  possible,  and  with  this  in  view  they  could  not 
venture  to  draw  their  teachers  exclusively  from  their 
own  denominational  ranks.  They  have  had  to  seek  the 
best  wherever  they  were  to  be  found  and  to  make  the 
conditions  of  residence  as  attractive  as  possible.  It  is  a 
positive  asset  for  them  to  be  able  to  say  that  neither 
pupils  nor  teachers  are  to  be  subjected  to  rigid  religious 
tests.  Then  again,  they  have  had  to  prepare  their 
pupils  to  enter  the  best  colleges  whether  these  were  or 
were  not  in  sympathy  with  their  methods.  They  have 
had  to  face  the  wholesome  competition  of  schools 
quite  positively  opposed  to  their  theories,  'and  this 
competition  is  not  limited  to  college  entrance  examina- 
tions. Still  more,  in  the  far  more  serious  tests  of  the 
college  years  the  Church  School  has  had  to  be  always 
on  its  mettle  to  show  that  boys  trained  in  its  way  can 
stand  the  strain  intellectually  and  morally  as  well  as 
any  others. 

It  is  not  the  place  here  to  pass  judgment  upon  the 
value  of  this  comparatively  new  contribution  to  the 
resources  of  our  country  in  the  matter  of  secondary 
education.  As  the  older  academies  were  the  outgrowth 
of  Congregationalism  with  its  spirit  of  independence,  so 


78  LEARNING  AND  LIVING 

these  schools  have  grown  out  of  a  new  emphasis  upon 
ecclesiasticism  with  its  spirit  of  conformity.  The  prob- 
lem of  the  parent  is  to  determine  under  which  of  these 
ideals  of  life  and  duty  he  prefers  to  bring  his  growing 
boy. 

Another  class  of  schools  includes  the  private  acad- 
emies or  "fitting  schools"  without  endowment  and 
without  the  backing  of  any  special  sentiment,  religious 
or  local.  These  are  frankly  business  undertakings  in 
which,  as  in  all  other  business,  the  question  of  profit 
and  loss  must  take  precedence  of  all  others.  This  is  not 
to  depreciate  the  sincerity  of  the  effort  made  by  con- 
scientious masters  to  maintain  high  standards  of  schol- 
arship and  discipline.  In  the  long  run  such  standards 
are  sure  to  prove  the  best  investment;  but  the  run  may 
be  a  very  long  one  indeed,  and  meanwhile  the  pressure 
toward  lowering  of  standards  is  inevitably  greater  than 
where  the  safeguards  of  endowment  or  of  corporate  in- 
terest exist.  The  quality  of  such  a  school  is  absolutely 
dependent  upon  the  personality  of  its  principal.  It  is, 
therefore,  impossible  to  lay  down  any  general  prin- 
ciples by  which  the  claims  of  one  or  another  institution 
of  this  kind  can  be  judged. 

A  variety  of  the  private  academy  is  the  so-called 
military  school.  Here  the  existence  of  a  daily  drill,  the 
wearing  of  a  uniform  and  the  general  military  or- 
ganization of  the  place  are  supposed  to  do  for  the  boy 
very  much  the  same  kind  of  service  which  is  expected 
from  the  less  picturesque  theory  of  the  Church  School. 
They  are  intended  to  cultivate  a  corporate  spirit,  a 
high  standard  of  personal  honor,  a  dignity  of  bearing 


WHAT  TO  DO  WITH  A  BOY?  79 

and  a  sense  of  the  responsibility  of  each  for  the  welfare 
of  all.  It  would  be  absurd  to  suppose  that  these  admir- 
able traits  do  not  prevail  in  any  of  the  military  schools, 
but  one  may  be  permitted  to  doubt  whether  this  is  not 
owing  to  the  personal  quality  of  some  individual  rather 
than  to  any  intrinsic  merit  in  the  system  itself.  The 
answer  made  to  the  writer  by  the  principal  of  a  mili- 
tary academy:  "Without  the  military  organization  I 
would  not  undertake  to  run  this  school  for  a  moment" 
seemed  to  be  the  all-sufficient  explanation  of  its 
wretched  quality.  The  incompetent  man  found  in  the 
military  system  a  crutch  by  which  he  managed  to  keep 
himself  going.  It  is  possible  that  a  competent  man 
might  find  it  a  useful  tool,  but  for  him  it  would  cer- 
tainly not  be  an  indispensable  one.  It  is  not  machinery 
of  any  kind,  military  or  otherwise,  that  will  save  the 
soul  of  a  boy.  Beyond  that  there  is  not  much  to  be 
said. 

The  same  is  true,  even  in  a  higher  degree,  of  still 
another  class  of  schools,  the  strictly  limited  Home 
Schools,  of  which  the  name  is  legion.  Here  the  per- 
sonal element  is  the  all-determining  factor.  The  attrac- 
tion of  such  a  place  to  the  inquiring  parent  is  the  hope 
that  his  boy  may  receive  there  the  kind  of  "personal 
attention"  which  he  fancies  may  be  the  best  substitute 
for  the  influence  of  his  home.  The  limited  numbers 
seem  to  insure  continuous  watchfulness  and  helpful- 
ness. On  this  point  we  have  already  said  enough  to 
show  the  danger  of  the  whole  theory  of  "special  treat- 
ment," but  there  remain  cases  where,  to  use  a  medical 
phrase,  such  treatment  seems  "indicated,"  and  it  is  a 


8o  LEARNING  AND  LIVING 

function  of  the  home  school  to  supply  it.  One  of  its 
chief  advantages  is  that  the  boy  may  here  be  brought 
into  wholesome  relation  with  women  of  refinement  and 
find  thus,  in  some  measure,  a  compensation  for  the  un- 
speakable loss  of  his  home  life.  It  hardly  needs  to  be 
said  that,  just  in  proportion  to  the  greater  intimacy  of 
the  home  school,  greater  care  is  needed  in  its  choice. 
As  to  this,  there  is  no  resource  but  the  parent's  sense 
for  what  is  best  and  soundest  in  a  home.  One  is 
tempted  to  say  that  a  parent  who  knew  how  to  select 
a  home  school  for  his  boy  would  thereby  prove  himself 
the  best  person  in  the  world  to  make  a  home  for  him. 
This  suggests  a  device  rather  more  common  a  gen- 
eration ago  than  it  is  now,  by  which  parents  of  large 
means  and  generous  intentions  thought  to  avoid  the 
ills  of  remote  boarding  schools  for  their  sons  by  keep- 
ing them  strictly  at  home  and  employing  resident  tu- 
tors for  their  instruction  and  entertainment.  At  first 
thought  and  in  view  of  all  that  has  been  said  here  this 
might  seem  the  very  most  desirable  plan.  It  would 
seem  to  be  supplementing  all  the  good  of  family  life  by 
introducing  into  it  a  stimulating  and  broadening  in- 
fluence. The  young  tutor  thus  brought  into  close  rela- 
tions with  the  family  is  supposed  to  be  a  kind  of  elder 
brother  to  the  younger  fry,  leading  them  in  study  and 
in  sport,  setting  their  minds  to  work  on  the  glories  of 
the  distant  college  life  to  which  they  are  destined  and 
meanwhile  encouraging  them  at  every  stage  of  their 
progress  thither.  All  this  under  the  watchful  eye  of 
parents  ready  with  curb  or  spur  to  correct  any  imme- 
diate danger  of  excess.  It  is  a  pretty  picture;  but  one 


WHAT  TO  DO  WITH  A  BOY?  81 

has  only  to  consider  the  almost  infinite  difficulties  of 
the  situation  thus  created  to  realize  how  small  are  the 
chances  of  success.  The  selection  of  a  young  man  to 
whom  one  would  be  willing  to  entrust  such  responsi- 
bility is  a  problem  of  the  utmost  delicacy.  The  wrong 
man  will  do  far  more  harm  than  can  come  from  almost 
any  influence  in  a  school  of  any  type  whatever.  Little 
frictions  are  sure  to  grow  greater.  The  triangular  rela- 
tion of  family,  boy  and  tutor  is  prolific  of  causes  of 
stumbling.  The  wear  and  tear  on  the  tutor  is  bound  to 
be  reflected  in  the  nervous  tension  of  the  boy  and  the 
hypersensitiveness  of  parents. 

But  even  supposing  the  best  of  conditions,  there  re- 
mains the  question  of  the  value  of  the  system  for  the 
boy.  My  own  feeling,  based  on  considerable  observa- 
tion and  a  little  early  experience  is  that  it  should  be 
resorted  to  only  as  a  necessity,  certainly  not  as  a  lux- 
ury. It  tends  to  exaggerate  to  the  utmost  the  evils  of 
"special  attention."  It  separates  the  boy  from  the 
wholesome  competitions  of  his  mates.  It  unfits  him  for 
the  rough  and  ready  contacts  that  surely  await  him 
whenever  he  is  released  from  this  gentle  surveillance. 
It  gives  him  fictitious  standards  of  values.  I  dislike  to 
say  that  it  is  "undemocratic,"  because  that  is  a  word 
which  may  mean  something  or  nothing  according  to 
the  point  of  view,  but  perhaps  after  all  this  is  the  word 
which  best  conveys  to  the  most  hearers  the  fatal  dan- 
ger of  this  private  tutorial  method.  It  may  be  neces- 
sary, but  that  is  the  best  that  can  be  said  for  it. 

Finally  there  is  one  other  device  against  which  I 
should  like  to  register  an  even  more  serious  warning, 


82  LEARNING  AND  LIVING 

and  that  is  the  sending  of  young  boys  to  Europe  for 
what  is  called  "a  foreign  education."  I  have  tried 
elsewhere  to  set  forth  with  some  detail  the  reasons  why 
this  should  not  be  done.1  Here  I  would  touch  only 
upon  the  argument  in  favor  as  it  presents  itself  to  the 
parent  of  large,  or  sometimes  even  more  forcibly  to  one 
of  small  means,  who  wishes  to  do  the  best  for  his,  or 
more  often  for  her  boy.  The  first  step  is  that  European 
schools  are  better  than  American  schools.  This  idea  is 
probably  based  upon  little  more  than  a  vague  notion 
that,  since  European  civilization  is  older  than  Ameri- 
can, and  has  done  many  greater  things,  the  schools 
which  form  a  part  of  that  great  result  must  be  better 
than  those  which  have  grown  up  as  a  part  of  our  own 
more  rapid  and  more  casual  progress.  I  am  afraid  we 
must  admit  that  in  certain  respects  this  impression  is  a 
true  one.  The  school  systems  of  England,  France,  Ger- 
many, and  Switzerland  rest  upon  a  kind  of  valuation  of 
the  teacher's  profession  which  has  so  far  been  unhap- 
pily lacking  in  America.  Let  us  grant  this  superiority 
and  accept  the  conclusion  that,  for  the  boys  of  those 
countries,  these  systems  are  the  best  available. 

The  question  is  whether  they  are  desirable  for  our 
boys.  Of  course  all  that  has  been  said  hitherto  against 
sending  our  lads  away  from  home  applies  with  double 
force  to  this  much  greater  experiment.  The  inexpe- 
rienced parent,  often  a  mother  confronted  suddenly 
with  the  responsibility  of  decision,  is  caught  by  the 
glamor  of  the  argument.  Her  boy  shall  have  the  oppor- 
tunity denied  to  less  favored  youths.  She  is  prepared 

1  Pages  197  sqq. 


WHAT  TO  DO  WITH  A  BOY?  83 

to  make  the  sacrifice  —  if  such  it  be,  of  breaking  up  her 
home  and  plunging  into  the  glittering  uncertainties  of 
foreign  residence.  But  what  does  she  find?  The  regu- 
lar schools,  the  only  ones  really  worth  considering,  are 
far  from  easy  of  access  to  the  foreign  pupil.  Those  of 
the  Continent  are  generally  closed  to  him  by  the  barrier 
of  language.  It  is  not  the  business  of  these  schools  to 
teach  their  own  language  to  the  foreigner.  Only  after 
he  has  acquired  a  really  adequate  speaking  knowledge 
of  it  can  they  accept  him  as  a  regular  member  of  their 
classes. 

This  implies  an  interval  in  which  the  luckless  boy  is 
to  be  subjected  to  the  tortures  of  isolation  from  the 
sound  of  his  own  speech.  The  length  of  this  interval 
will  depend  upon  the  completeness  of  the  isolation. 
The  chances  are  that  it  will  be  spent  in  one  of  the 
numerous  hybrid  schools  that  have  sprung  up  to  meet 
precisely  this  demand.  There  the  American  boy  will 
meet  other  American  boys  mingled  with  English,  Ger- 
man, Italian,  Russian,  all  supposed  to  be  learning  the 
language  of  the  country,  but  all,  boylike,  dodging  their 
opportunities  and  snatching  every  occasion  to  speak 
and  hear  the  dear  native  tongue  and  to  cultivate  hatred 
of  the  odious  foreign  things  about  them.  Such  schools 
are  purely  commercial  enterprises,  depending  upon 
numbers  for  their  success  and  consequently  interested 
to  prolong  the  residence  of  their  pupils  as  far  as  pos- 
sible. As  to  the  moral  conditions  likely  to  prevail  in 
such  a  place:  I  leave  that  to  the  intelligence  of  the 
reader. 


84  LEARNING  AND  LIVING 

Fancy  the  holidays  of  a  boy  thus  torn  up  by  the 
roots!  If  his  parents  are  in  Europe  he  spends  his  free 
time  in  the  wretched  luxury  of  hotels  or  lodgings  or  in 
the  aimless  wanderings  miscalled  "  travel."  If,  through 
the  apprenticeship  of  the  mixed  school  he  succeeds  in 
entering  one  of  the  regular  government  schools  he  will 
certainly  have  the  opportunity  to  learn  certain  lessons 
of  thoroughness  and  seriousness  that  are  in  themselves 
valuable,  but  at  what  a  sacrifice  of  the  things  worth 
most  to  him  as  a  future  American  citizen !  I  heard  only 
the  other  day  an  American  mother  of  good  intelligence, 
but  limited  experience,  say  that  the  best  educated  men 
she  had  known  had  been  educated  abroad,  and  for  that 
reason  she  was  prepared  to  transplant  her  little  son  to 
Europe.  I  doubted  her  premise  and  deplored  her  con- 
clusion. The  value  of  what  foreign  study  and  residence 
can  give  can  be  realized  only  after  the  youth  has  got  the 
best  he  can  out  of  what  is  offered  him  at  home. 

To  sum  up:  keep  the  American  boy  at  home  up  to  his 
seventeenth  year;  but  make  the  home  all  that  it  ought 
to  be  for  his  sake.  If  it  is  becoming  anything  less  than 
this,  do  not  sacrifice  the  boy,  but  sacrifice  the  thing,  no 
matter  what  it  is,  that  is  making  the  home  less  worthy 
of  him.  Send  him  to  the  best  available  day  school,  and 
as  a  good  citizen  do  all  you  can  to  make  the  school 
what  it  ought  to  be.  If  he  must  go  away  consider,  not 
"social  opportunity,"  not  any  single  detail  of  school 
life,  but  what  on  the  whole  offers  him  the  best  chance 
of  a  full  and  harmonious  development  in  body,  mind, 
and  feeling,  the  best  preparation,  not  for  a  college 
course,  but  for  the  life  of  a  citizen  of  the  Republic. 


THE  DISCIPLINE  OF  A  UNIVERSITY 
COLLEGE 

THE  nomenclature  of  American  education  is  so  far 
from  uniform,  is  so  much  a  matter  of  local  usage 
and  is  so  destitute  of  common  standards  that,  before 
employing  even  its  most  familiar  terms  we  must  define 
them  anew.  For  our  present  purpose  I  mean  by  a  "col- 
lege" what  has  always  been  meant  by  it  in  our  best 
educational  traditions,  a  school  of  liberal  culture  fol- 
lowing in  due  succession  the  school  of  preparation  in 
the  elements  of  sound  learning  and  preceding  the 
schools  for  training  in  the  several  professions.  Precisely 
what  such  general  culture  ought  to  be  is  matter  for  dis- 
cussion, and  will,  it  is  to  be  hoped,  always  continue  to 
be  so;  for  in  such  discussion  lies  the  best  guarantee  of 
rational  progress,  the  best  hope  for  the  continuous  ad- 
justment of  the  educational  process  to  the  needs  of  the 
time.  All  that  we  require  for  the  moment  in  our  defini- 
tion of  the  college  as  distinguished  from  the  technical 
school  is  that  it  stands  for  a  period  of  "liberal,"  that  is 
unprofessional  study,  the  aim  of  which  is  the  develop- 
ment of  intellectual  character  and  capacity  through 
occupation  with  the  things  that  so  far  have  been 
proved  useful  to  this  end. 

The  college  is  the  peculiarly  American  educational 
institution,  not  precisely  the  equivalent  of  any  foreign 
one,  varying  greatly  in  detail,  but  preserving,  now  for 
•several  generations,  a  marked  character  of  its  own. 

8s 


86  LEARNING  AND  LIVING 

The  object,  during  the  generation  just  passing,  of  at- 
tacks and  encroachments  from  many  sides,  it  is  still 
recognizable  under  its  changes  of  form  as  essentially  a 
"liberal"  school,  not  afraid  of  the  word,  but  aiming  to 
give  to  it  always  a  larger  and  a  more  vital  meaning. 

By  the  word  "university"  we  mean  here  a  school  or 
group  of  schools  of  advanced  learning,  whose  object  is 
such  fundamental  training  in  the  principles  of  profes- 
sional activity  as  shall  fit  young  men  to  begin  practice 
with  the  greatest  advantage.  This  definition  would  ex- 
clude on  the  one  hand  the  great  mass  of  so-called  uni- 
versities which  vary  in  their  standards  from  those  of  a 
good  high  school  to  those  of  an  average  college  and  on 
the  other  those  examining  or  certifying  boards  without 
teaching  functions  which  are  intended  to  regulate  the 
educational  machinery  of  a  state.  It  is  a  misfortune 
that  the  looseness  of  our  terminology  has  so  often  con- 
founded the  two  words  "college"  and  "university," 
and  this  confusion  has  not  been  one  of  words  alone. 
Colleges  have  striven  to  become  universities,  and  uni- 
versities have  been  compelled  to  perform  collegiate 
functions,  until  the  public  mind  is  really  in  a  pretty 
hopeless  muddle  about  the  whole  matter.  Its  conclu- 
sion is  likely  to  be,  that  the  distinctions  we  are  trying 
to  make  here  are,  to  use  one  of  the  public's  favorite 
terms  of  opprobrium,  "purely  academic."  I  hope  to 
show  that  they  are  real  distinctions  and  that  they  are 
fundamental  to  our  purpose. 

Their  value  becomes  clearer  when  we  put  them  to- 
gether in  the  form  chosen  in  the  title  to  this  essay.  The 
phrase  "university  college,"  while  it  brings  the  two 


COLLEGE  DISCIPLINE  87 

words  into  a  closer  and  more  integral  relation,  compels 
us  to  know  even  more  precisely  what  we  mean  by  them. 
We  mean  a  school  of  liberal  culture  standing  in  an  or- 
ganic connection  with  a  university.  As  to  the  wisdom 
or  unwisdom  of  such  a  connection  we  are  not  now  con- 
cerned. That  is  a  point  upon  which  opinions  differ 
widely  and  fortunately.  It  would  be  a  pity  if  Ameri- 
cans were  not  to  be  at  liberty  to  experiment  or  should 
ever  be  brought  to  sacrifice  the  advantages  of  diversity 
to  the  cheap  attraction  of  uniformity.  Our  concern  for 
the  moment  is  with  the  fact  that  there  are  colleges  thus 
intimately  bound  up  with  the  larger  life  of  the  uni- 
versity and  that  such  colleges  are  thus  brought  into 
certain  peculiar  relations  to  the  problems  of  collegiate 
administration. 

Even  where  this  close  relation  between  the  univer- 
sity and  the  college  exists  it  is  the  college  which  has 
possessed  and  still  possesses  the  strongest  hold  upon 
the  affections  of  the  graduates,  and  it  is  these  grad- 
uates of  the  college  who  still  form  the  main  portion  of 
the  public  which  supports  and,  because  it  supports, 
claims  a  large  share  in  directing  the  policy  of  the  in- 
stitution as  a  whole.  The  college,  in  spite  of  all  the 
advances  in  technical  professional  training,  remains 
the  most  important  and  the  most  interesting  stage  in 
our  educational  scale.  It  is  the  most  important  because 
to  the  great  majority  of  our  academic  youth  it  is  the 
final  stage.  It  is  the  most  interesting  because  its  prob- 
lems are  so  wide-reaching,  so  varied  and  so  promptly 
reflective  of  every  advance  in  human  thought.  Profes- 
sional training  has  always  been  fairly  well  taken  care 


88  LEARNING  AND  LIVING 

of  by  the  professions  themselves,  and  in  the  nature  of 
things  it  must  be  so  cared  for.  The  college  needs  the 
continual  guardianship  of  all  those  in  every  walk  of 
life  to  whom  liberal  culture  means  a  something  effec- 
tively different  from  professional  training  of  any  sort. 
During  the  past  generation  the  American  college  has 
been  the  subject  of  continuous  attacks,  chiefly  in  the 
house  of  its  friends.  We  have  had  dangled  before  our 
eyes  the  bugaboo  of  its  inevitable  annihilation  be- 
tween the  advancing  standards  of  the  secondary 
schools  and  the  steadily  increasing  claims  of  profes- 
sional preparation.  To  this  pressure  the  colleges  have 
been  forced  to  make  certain  concessions,  by  no  means 
to  their  injury,  a  slight  addition  here,  a  little  amputa- 
tion there,  a  reduction  in  what  one  of  my  colleagues 
used  to  call  "  frills  "  and  a  strengthening  in  the  essential 
parts.  Yet,  in  spite  of  all  these  changes,  it  remains  the 
greatest  proof  of  the  value  of  the  college  as  an  element 
in  American  life  that  it  has  held  its  own  and  that  when- 
ever, as  happened  a  few  years  ago  in  the  case  of  one  of 
our  most  typical  New  England  colleges,  the  body  of 
graduates  has  expressed  itself,  its  voice  has  been  in 
favor  of  the  traditional  studies  and  the  well-tried 
forms,  allowing  always  for  such  modifications  as  ad- 
vancing knowledge  and  wider  experience  shall  suggest. 
Both  the  upper  and  the  nether  educational  millstones 
have  been  grinding  away  during  this  most  exacting 
generation,  but  they  have  not  yet  reduced  the  college 
to  any  such  straits  as  seriously  to  alarm  its  defenders. 
Rather,  they  have  stimulated  them  to  renewed  energy 
in  proving  anew  the  right  of  the  college  to  its  own  exist- 


COLLEGE  DISCIPLINE  89 

ence.  As  these  words  are  written  come  reports  from 
every  hand  of  an  unparalleled  crowding  of  our  most 
typical  colleges.  In  those  farthest  removed  from  cities 
the  housing  problem  has  become  almost  fatally  serious. 
Some  are  considering  plans  for  a  systematic  limitation 
of  numbers  on  the  basis  of  a  more  careful  selection  of 
candidates.  The  supply  of  competent  teachers  has  al- 
ready become  a  question  of  the  highest  importance. 

And  now,  by  "discipline"  is  meant  whatever  in  the 
life  of  the  college,  apart  from  the  actual  study,  tends  to 
form  the  youth  into  that  being  whom,  for  lack  of  a 
better  term,  we  call  an  "educated  man."  Discipline  is 
indeed  the  final  object  of  the  whole  college  organiza- 
tion. It  ought  to  be  kept  in  sight  at  every  moment  by 
those  who  shape  the  details  of  administration.  No 
measure  of  any  sort  should  be  passed  until  its  bearing 
upon  this  supreme  object  has  been  duly  weighed.  The 
discipline  of  an  army  we  in  these  days  have  learned 
only  too  well  to  understand.  It  means,  not  merely  the 
outward  form,  the  salute,  the  drill,  the  punctuality, 
the  instant  and  unquestioning  obedience,  but  also  the 
change  in  the  recruit's  whole  attitude  from  the  more 
diverse  and  scattered  interests  of  the  civilian  to  the 
intense  and  concentrated  loyalty  of  the  soldier  to  his 
single  task. 

Some  such  attitude  toward  his  work  is  what  is  here 
meant  by  the  discipline  of  the  student,  but  the  com- 
parison, just  now  being  made  with  increasing  fre- 
quency, is  likely  to  be  misleading.  Already  voices  are 
beginning  to  be  heard  .calling  attention  to  the  swift  re- 
sults and  the  amazing  efficiency  of  military  discipline 


9o  LEARNING  AND  LIVING 

and  more  than  suggesting  that  the  happily  brief  expe- 
rience of  our  academic  youth  under  military  supervision 
ought  to  be  indefinitely  extended.  That,  however,  is 
not  at  all  what  we  are  here  aiming  at.  Nothing  could 
be  much  worse  than  to  bring  the  methods  of  the  mili- 
tary academy  into  our  colleges.  These  methods  pre- 
suppose one  uniform  aim  for  all  students  and  one  well 
established  body  of  instruction  to  be  conveyed  by 
teacher  to  pupil.  The  method  of  instruction  is  nat- 
urally that  of  the  standardized  text-book  learned  and 
repeated  with  daily  and  hourly  insistence  upon  the 
regular  performance  of  allotted  tasks.  That  is  indeed 
discipline,  but  in  the  lowest  sense  of  that  inspiring 
word.  It  may  well  have  its  effect  on  the  youth  by 
starting  him  in  useful  habits.  It  will  doubtless  convey 
to  him  a  mass  of  useful  information.  It  will  give  him  a 
certain  facility  in  exercising  over  others  the  kind  of 
authority  he  has  himself  been  forced  to  respect  —  or 
appear  to  respect. 

All  these  are  results  of  the  greatest  value  to  the  soldier 
in  the  special  service  he  will  be  called  upon  to  perform; 
but  in  the  higher  sense  they  do  not  mean  discipline  at 
all.  Essentially  this  is  all  external  in  its  method  and  its 
spirit.  It  is  not  primarily  directed  toward  rousing  into 
activity  that  inner  impulse  which,  working  outward 
expresses  itself  in  action  under  the  domination  of  the 
disciplined  will.  The  very  essence  of  military  discipline 
is  the  absence  of  will:  "theirs  not  to  reason  why."  Yet 
the  highest  achievement  in  human  life  comes  only 
from  the  constant  will  toward  the  best,  and  our  aca- 
demic aim  should  be  directed  wholly  toward  the  high- 


COLLEGE  DISCIPLINE  91 

est.  Not  the  quickest  process,  not  the  most  "direct" 
application  of  effort,  but  the  slow  ripening  of  the  intel- 
lectual and  the  moral  character  is  the  academic,  but 
not  the  military,  ideal. 

The  university  college  differs  from  the  separated  col- 
lege mainly  in  its  closer  contact  with  what  we  have 
called  the  larger  ideals  of  the  university.  Our  first 
question,  therefore,  concerns  the  inevitable  reaction 
upon  the  college  of  the  university  life  in  the  midst  of 
which  it  stands  and  with  which  it  is  organically  con- 
nected. The  essential  principle  of  university  discipline 
is  the  principle  of  freedom.  The  university  man  is  a 
free  agent.  He  lives  and  comes  and  goes  as  he  pleases. 
The  opportunities  offered  him  he  takes  or  leaves  at  his 
discretion.  When  he  is  ready  to  submit  himself  to  the 
tests  of  scholarship  required  for  his  degrees  he  does  so; 
but  no  one  in  authority  reproaches  him  if  he  does  not 
or  if  he  fails  to  stand  the  tests.  His  general  conduct  of 
life  is  subject  only  to  the  rules  of  a  civil  society. 

It  is  inevitable  that  this  freedom  of  the  university 
should  react  powerfully  upon  the  associated  college. 
Many  restrictions  which  might  well  be  set  in  a  college 
apart  cannot  be  maintained  here  without  injurious 
friction.  In  the  university  college  even  the  lowest  un- 
dergraduate cannot  entirely  escape  the  influence  of  the 
continuous  contact  of  the  collegiate  with  the  university 
ideals.  Even  the  conscious  effort  of  the  authorities 
cannot  quite  bring  this  to  pass.  They  may  shut  up  the 
Freshman  in  buildings  swarming  only  with  his  kind; 
they  may  feed  him  at  the  same  table,  move  him 
through  the  same  class-rooms,  subject  him  to  the  same 


92  LEARNING  AND  LIVING 

degrading  system  of  academic  bookkeeping  which 
masquerades  under  the  name  of  "discipline,"  but  they 
cannot  quite  hide  from  him  the  most  important  educa- 
tional fact  in  his  whole  situation,  namely,  that  he  is  a 
member,  however  humble,  in  a  "society  of  scholars." 
No  matter  how  remote  from  him  the  higher  regions  of 
scholarship  may  be,  some  faint  glow  of  their  radiance 
must  penetrate  into  the  mists  of  his  inexperience  and 
his  indifference. 

It  is  this  contact  of  two  educational  ideals  which 
underlies  the  whole  problem  of  the  university  college. 
To  some  persons  this  contact  seems  so  dangerous  that 
it  may  rather  be  described  as  a  conflict.  To  others  it 
offers  the  most  valuable  aid  possible  in  the  attainment 
of  the  highest  academic  results.  The  efficient  head  of 
one  New  England  college  used  to  say  that  he  would  not 
tolerate  a  graduate  student  on  the  campus.  He  thought 
that  advanced  study  belonged  only  at  the  university 
and  that  its  mere  presence  in  the  college  tended  to 
create  an  atmosphere  unfavorable  to  the  steady  pur- 
suit of  purely  collegiate  aims.  In  other  equally  typical 
colleges  there  has  been  a  persistent  effort  to  create 
something  of  what  we  call  the  "university  spirit"  be- 
cause it  was  believed  that  this  would  further  the  more 
specific  purpose  of  the  college.  In  the  university  col- 
lege this  contact  is,  for  better  or  worse,  already  present, 
and  the  problem  of  administration  is  to  utilize  it. 

It  is  a  very  pretty  illustration  at  once  of  the  impor- 
tance and  the  difficulty  of  this  problem,  that  while  some 
of  the  separated  colleges  have  been  trying  to  lift  them- 
selves up  by  introducing  studies  and  methods  supposed 


COLLEGE  DISCIPLINE  93 

to  belong  to  "graduate"  instruction,  there  has  been  a 
constant  pressure  upon  the  university  colleges  to  with- 
draw themselves  more  and  more  from  the  baleful  in- 
fluence of  such  advanced  ideas,  or,  in  other  words,  to 
draw  the  line  more  sharply  between  undergraduate  and 
graduate  methods.  Graduates,  we  are  told,  are  men; 
undergraduates  are  boys  and  must  be  treated  as  such. 
The  kind  of  discipline  suited  for  men  is  not  fit  for  boys. 
In  fact,  say  these  counsellors  of  imperfection,  it  is 
doubtful  whether  men  profit  much  by  any  other  kind 
of  discipline  than  that  which  boys  need  to  hold  them  to 
their  tasks. 

This  is  a  fundamental  antithesis  and  needs  a  little 
more  clearing  up.  Let  the  word  "  boy  "  be  our  starting- 
point.  We  use  it  carelessly  in  a  half  affectionate,  half 
depreciatory  way  to  express  our  feeling  toward  these 
youths  of  eighteen  to  twenty-two.  To  us  they  seem 
but  just  out  of  their  cradles.  We  think  of  their  follies, 
their  waste  of  time,  their  confused  notions  of  right  and 
wrong,  their  contempt  of  authority  and  precedent, 
their  generous  enthusiasms  and  their  blase  affectations. 
We  turn  away  our  heads  to  hide  our  tolerant  smiles  and 
say  to  each  other:  "Boys!  dear  boys!  When  will  they 
begin  to  be  men!"  And  so,  putting  our  feelings  into 
terms  of  education,  we  hail  with  a  new  sensation  of 
relief  each  new  effort  of  the  college  to  safeguard  these 
precious  pledglings  of  our  affection  and  our  sacrifice. 
Fond  parents  and  alarmed  schoolmasters  and  easily 
excited  social  reformers  rush  to  meet  half  way  the 
amiable  deans  and  canny  presidents  who  offer  them  all 
kinds  of  plausible  panaceas  against  laziness  and  vi- 


94  LEARNING  AND  LIVING 

ciousness  and  social  neglect.  "Revive  class-feeling, 
and  all  will  be  well!"  shouts  one.  "Publish  abroad  the 
grades  of  scholarship "  says  another,  "so  that  even  he 
who  can  run  a  mile  in  x  minutes  may  read  the  lesson 
that  it  pays  to  learn  what  is  set  before  him,  and  you 
will  be  offering  to  these  *  boys  '  the  only  kind  of  motive 
they  are  able  to  understand."  "Look  after  them  more 
sharply"  insists  a  third,  "provide  them  with  hordes  of 
'  advisers,'  deans  and  assistant  deans,  tutors,  student 
counsellors  and  what  not,  and  this  irresponsibility 
which  is  of  the  very  nature  of  the  '  boy  '  will  be  so 
hedged  about  that  it  will  no  longer  be  harmful  to  him." 
"Herd  your  boys  together  as  much  as  possible,  and  all 
those  wicked  invidious  distinctions  that  work  against 
a  true  democracy  will  disappear." 

Now  all  this  multitude  of  conflicting  counsels  rests 
upon  our  persistent  misuse  of  the  word  and  the  idea, 
"  boy."  To  call  our  youths  of  eighteen  to  twenty-two 
merely  boys  is  as  false  as  it  would  be  to  call  them 
merely  men.  They  are  young  men  not  old  boys.  What 
is  manly  about  them  is  the  essential  and  the  formative. 
The  boyish  things  are  the  transient,  the  outgrown,  the 
disappearing  things.  As  in  all  human  affairs  it  is  the 
growing,  forward-looking,  upbuilding  aspects  that  are 
important,  so  is  it  in  the  highest  degree  with  the  mak- 
ing of  a  man.  A  popular  weekly  presented  recently  on 
its  cover  a  pathetic  picture  of  a  sturdy  urchin  in  the 
barber's  chair,  his  face  radiant  with  the  broadest  of 
grins  as  his  golden  curls  fall  thick  around  him  while  be- 
hind stands  the  poor,  proud  little  mother  pressing  her 
handkerchief  to  her  lips  to  check  the  sobs  that  protest 


COLLEGE  DISCIPLINE  95 

against  the  sacrifice  of  her  baby  to  the  insistent  claim 
of  the  boy.  The  passage  from  the  boy  to  the  man  calls 
for  no  less  pathetic  sacrifices  on  the  part  alike  of  par- 
ents and  of  the  community.  Cost  what  it  may  the 
"boy"  must  be  sloughed  off,  and  the  man  must  have 
his  chance.  The  picturesque  elements  of  boyhood 
must  be  as  relentlessly  abandoned  as  the  baby  curls  are 
surrendered  to  the  cruel  shears. 

If  we  are  to  do  justice  to  our  growing  youth  we  must 
first  conquer  our  own  blinding  affections.  We  must 
first  of  all  get  it  into  our  working  consciousness  that 
this  being  whom  we  have  been  taking  as  a  joke  is  a 
joke  no  longer,  but  a  stubborn,  persistent,  individual 
fact.  The  clouds  of  glory  he  has  been  trailing  about 
with  him  are  darkening  into  threatening  masses  of 
shadow,  whose  silver  linings  are  pretty  steadily  turned 
the  other  way.  It  is  a  severe  trial  of  our  faith,  and  it  is 
not  strange  that  our  faith  often  fails  us  and  we  grasp 
at  anything  that  seems  likely  to  give  us  a  hold  upon 
realities  we  can  understand.  Our  fixed  point  must  be 
the  fact  of  the  freedom  involved  in  the  university  con- 
tact. The  theory  of  the  university  college  must  include 
a  considerable  measure  of  freedom;  the  practical  ques- 
tions are:  how  much  freedom?  in  what  directions?  and 
at  what  stages  of  advancement? 

To  begin  with  the  last  of  these  questions:  at  what 
point  in  the  life  of  the  college  youth  should  he  begin  to 
be  subjected  to  the  trials  and  introduced  to  the  joys  of 
academic  freedom?  I  reply:  at  the  moment  of  his  en- 
trance into  the  academic  community.  About  this  there 
has  been  much  discussion,  and  many  experiments  have 


96  LEARNING  AND  LIVING 

been  tried.  It  sounds  reasonable  that  a  "  boy  "  just  re- 
leased from  the  necessary  restraints  of  school  should  be 
led  over  gradually  into  the  responsibilities  of  university 
freedom.  But  what  is  this  process  of  leading  over?  In 
practice  it  means  nothing  more  than  prolonging  the 
period  of  external  control  or,  in  other  words,  postpon- 
ing the  beginning  of  the  only  process  by  which  the 
lesson  of  responsibility  was  ever  learned,  namely  the 
taking  of  responsibility.  It  is  not  a  question  of  age. 
The  offenders  against  college  morals  are  seldom  the 
youngest  of  their  year.  The  youth  of  sixteen  plus  who 
has  passed  all  requirements  for  admission  to  college 
has  usually  shown,  simply  by  this  fact,  that  he  is  al- 
ready sufficiently  master  of  his  will  to  be  safely  trusted 
to  use  it  aright.  If  the  moral  backbone  is  not  fairly 
well  set  at  eighteen  it  is  not  a  matter  of  a  year  or  two 
longer  of  irresponsibility  that  will  do  it. 

In  saying  this  I  am  making  for  the  college  youth  no 
special  claim  to  superior  virtue  beyond  what  belongs 
to  his  quality  as  a  picked  man.  He  will  undoubtedly  do 
a  great  many  foolish  things  and  will  try  a  great  many 
experiments  on  himself  to  see  how  far  he  may  safely  or 
comfortably  go  without  disaster.  The  college  can  make 
no  superhuman  demands  upon  him,  but  it  may  fairly 
expect  that  when  he  enters  upon  its  privileges  and  its 
joys  he  shall  also  face  its  special  responsibilities.  Col- 
lege discipline  should  be  so  adjusted  as  to  catch  hold 
upon  every  one  of  his  forward  and  upward  looking  im- 
pulses and  to  discourage  actively  and  passively  every 
one  of  his  lapses  into  flabbiness.  It  is  a  difficult  and  a 
delicate  problem  demanding  a  clear  comprehension  of 


COLLEGE  DISCIPLINE  97 

young  human  nature  and  a  persistent  faith  in  its  ulti- 
mate Tightness.  The  especial  difficulty  in  practice  is  to 
remember  that  we  are  not  to  expect  immediate  results. 
The  temptation  is  to  make  regulations  so  that  ap- 
parent results  shall  be  produced  at  once.  It  can  be 
done;  but  this  is  the  discipline  of  a  reformatory,  not  of 
an  educating  community.  The  college  which  applies 
the  principle  of  liberty  must  expect  apparent  failures. 
They  will  come  at  whatever  stage  the  liberty  begins  to 
work,  and  the  sooner  the  better.  College  life  does  not 
in  this  respect  differ  from  any  other  form  of  associated 
life.  It  must  have  its  periods  of  initiation,  of  exper- 
iment and  therefore  of  waste,  of  error,  and  of  folly.  As 
compared  with  entrance  into  any  other  kind  of  life,  as 
for  instance,  into  the  business  community  of  a  great 
city,  entrance  into  the  college  is  infinitely  less  dan- 
gerous. It  is  surrounded  by  natural  safeguards  in  the 
very  character  of  its  occupations  and  of  the  men  who 
direct  them. 

We  sometimes  hear  the  defenders  of  a  system  of 
graduated  liberties  speak  with  alarm  of  the  "  shock"  of 
an  abrupt  transition  from  school  control  to  college  free- 
dom. Well,  it  is  a  shock,  but  of  a  kind  that  is  highly 
educative.  There  is  nothing  better  for  a  youth  than  to 
run  up  hard  at  times  against  the  consequences  of  his 
own  acts.  It  is  a  lonesome  but  a  fortunate  moment  for 
him  when  it  comes  over  him  with  full  force,  that  he  is 
the  person  most  concerned  in  his  own  success  or  failure. 
At  home  and  at  school  he  has  had  some  one  else  to  do 
his  suffering  for  him.  Now  he  has  come  into  a  world 
that  seems  to  care  about  him  not  at  all.  He  is  a  number 


98  LEARNING  AND  LIVING 

on  an  examination  slip,  a  seat  in  a  lecture  room,  a  page 
in  the  treasurer's  books.  It  is  a  shock;  but  it  sets  him 
thinking.  A  classmate  of  mine,  father  of  boys  and  a 
successful  private  tutor,  said:  "The  chief  difference  be- 
tween our  time  and  now  is,  that  nowadays  a  student 
begins  his  college  life  with  an  act  of  thought."  Very 
likely  this  unwonted  exercise  will  paralyze  him  for  the 
moment.  Thinking  for  one's  self  is  a  trying  occupa- 
tion. He  casts  about  him  for  the  props  that  have 
hitherto  supported  his  wavering  will  —  the  family 
habit  of  early  rising,  the  helpful  but  hateful  sound  of 
the  school  bell,  the  daily  report  of  his  study  to  parent 
or  teacher,  the  regular,  orderly  movement  of  a  mass  of 
boys  of  his  own  age,  the  quiet  evening  and  the  early 
sleep  all  are  gone.  Of  course  the  college  could  supply 
all  this  machinery.  It  used  to  do  so.  The  college  bell 
to  compulsory  prayers  took  the  place  of  the  family 
summons  to  an  early  breakfast;  the  regular  succes- 
sion of  classes  was  so  planned  as  to  keep  up  a  sys- 
tematic division  of  the  day;  hourly  recitations  with 
accurate  bookkeeping  kept  the  authorities  informed 
at  every  moment  of  the  precise  "standing"  of  every 
student. 

That  system  still  commends  itself  to  those  who  be- 
lieve that  education  is  primarily  a  thing  of  so  much 
work,  done  under  a  regular  and  personal  supervision. 
They  think  that  the  conditions  of  such  a  regulated  life 
are  more  favorable  to  the  formation  of  working  habits 
likely  to  be  of  permanent  value.  The  question  is  still 
an  open  one;  but  so  far  as  the  university  college  is  con- 
cerned the  tendency  is  clear.  The  principle  of  liberty 


COLLEGE  DISCIPLINE  99 

has  been  accepted,  and  its  application  begins  more  or 
less  sharply  with  the  beginning  of  college  life. 

If  now  we  turn  to  the  question  of  the  forms  which 
university  freedom  may  properly  take  in  the  college 
stage,  the  first  and  most  obvious  application  is  in  the 
choice  of  studies.  Whatever  may  be  thought  as  to  the 
meaning  of  a  liberal  education,  no  one  at  this  day 
would  undertake  to  administer  a  university  college 
upon  any  other  theory  than  that  of  a  wide  election. 
So  general  has  this  conviction  become  that  to  most 
persons  not  professionally  concerned  with  the  subject 
the  two  phrases  "elective  system"  and  "university 
freedom"  are  practically  synonymous.  Just  how  wide 
such  election  should  be  at  any  given  moment  is  again 
a  matter  for  discussion;  but  such  is  the  logic  of  freedom 
that,  if  the  principle  is  once  admitted,  it  tends  inev- 
itably to  cover  the  whole  range  of  studies  as  we  have 
seen  it  covering  the  whole  period  of  college  life.  The 
only  logical  solution  is  to  open  the  whole  list  of  "  lib- 
eral" studies  to  the  choice  of  all  candidates  for  the 
"liberal,"  that  is  the  non-professional  degrees.  That 
this  conclusion  is  logical,  however,  does  not  prove  that 
it  is  either  practicable  or  wise. 

The  theory  must  justify  itself  by  its  results  or  else  it 
must  be  modified  until  it  can  do  so.  In  fact,  such  a 
thing  as  absolute  freedom  of  election  in  studies  is  an 
impossibility.  In  many  subjects  there  is  a  natural 
sequence  of  topics  which  would  prevent  the  more  ad- 
vanced from  being  studied  until  after  the  more  elemen- 
tary. Some  subjects  demand  a  certain  maturity  of 
mind  which  would  ordinarily  exclude  the  younger  stu- 


ioo  LEARNING  AND  LIVING 

dents.  Any  conceivable  elective  system  implies  elec- 
tion among  such  studies  as  are  suited  to  the  student's 
capacity  and  previous  acquirements. 

We  are  concerned  with  the  disciplinary  effect  of  the 
free  election  of  studies.  That  initial  act  of  independent 
thought  may  be  very  crude,  based  upon  very  insuffi- 
cient grounds  and  subactuated  by  very  trifling  mo- 
tives, but  it  sets  for  the  young  man  the  note  of  personal 
responsibility  which  henceforth  he  cannot  escape.  It 
has  been  my  fortune  as  boy  and  man  to  live  through 
the  whole  process  of  change  from  a  system  of  absolute 
uniformity  and  compulsion  to  one  of  almost  as  com- 
plete liberty  and  then  long  afterward  to  another  sys- 
tem of  regulation  intended  to  retain  the  benefits  and 
avoid  the  dangers  of  both  its  predecessors.  In  the  light 
of  these  changes  and  of  the  illuminating  discussions 
that  accompanied  them,  I  do  not  hesitate  to  say  that 
American  education  owes  more  to  the  expansion  of 
student  freedom  than  to  any  other  cause,  perhaps  than 
to  all  other  causes.  On  the  whole  the  choice  of  their 
studies  has  been  taken  as  seriously  by  our  college  youth 
as  could  reasonably  have  been  expected.  The  reaction 
upon  their  ways  of  working  and  thinking  about  their 
work  has  been  most  encouraging. 

This  conclusion  is  not  weakened  by  the  undeniable 
fact  that  a  great  proportion  of  the  graduates  of  the 
freest  period  would  have  made  different  choices  if  the 
thing  were  to  do  over  again.  The  same  might  be  said  of 
most  later  human  decisions.  The  real  question  is 
whether  the  increase  of  freedom  has  strengthened  the 
will,  has  given  larger  and  truer  views  of  study  and  in- 


COLLEGE  DISCIPLINE  101 

creased  respect  for  the  intellectual  life.  That  such  has 
been  the  case  is  best  proven  by  the  practical  unanimity 
with  which  our  higher  institutions  of  learning  have  ac- 
cepted the  principle  and  invented  devices  for  securing 
the  best  results  from  it.  Within  recent  years  there  has 
been  noticeable  a  certain  tendency  toward  limitation 
of  freedom  in  this  matter  of  the  choice  of  studies,  but  so 
far  this  has  been  no  more  than  a  healthful  reaction 
against  rather  obvious  exaggerations  of  the  logic  of  the 
situation.  The  principle  has  been  preserved;  the  de- 
tails have  been  modified  rather  with  the  object  of 
saving  the  principle  than  of  working  against  it. 

But  the  mere  fact  of  a  free  election  of  studies  is  far 
from  being  the  same  thing  as  university  freedom.  It  is 
only  one  aspect  of  it.  It  may  be  so  administered  as 
almost  entirely  to  obscure  or  even  to  nullify  its  dis- 
ciplinary character.  There  are  certain  kinds  of  regula- 
tion which  tend  to  enforce  the  idea  of  liberty  and 
others  which  tend  to  destroy  it.  This  is  a  distinction 
which  the  university  college  is  bound  to  recognize.  It 
ought  to  insist  that  only  such  forms  of  control  shall  be 
used  as  will  reinforce  in  the  student's  mind  at  every 
turn  that  sense  of  responsibility  which  is  the  end  and 
aim  of  all  academic  discipline.  For  example,  how  to 
treat  the  not  altogether  simple  question  of  attendance 
at  college  exercises.  It  is  quite  possible  for  the  college 
to  say:  "We  permit  the  largest  practicable  freedom 
in  the  election  of  studies;  but,  the  election  once  made, 
the  student  must  be  present  at  every  regular  exercise  of 
every  course.  In  case  of  unexcused  absence  he  may  be 
punished  by  some  form  of  academic  censure."  But 


102  LEARNING  AND  LIVING 

what  is  the  result  of  this  prescription  ?  The  discipline 
of  liberty  is  lost.  The  attitude  of  the  student  toward 
his  instruction  remains  a  false  one.  He  is  no  longer  the 
recipient  of  a  privilege;  he  is  the  victim  of  a  conspiracy 
to  force  upon  him  something  from  which  he  is  trying  to 
escape.  Or,  supposing  that  a  certain  limit  of  absence 
before  censure  is  allowed,  he  keeps  within  his  limit  and 
fancies  he  has  done  all  that  can  be  asked  of  him.  He 
has  not  caught  the  spirit  of  university  freedom.  In 
spite  of  the  elective  system  of  studies,  the  student  is 
still  no  more  of  a  university  man  than  was  the  college 
"boy"  under  the  straitest  of  compulsory  methods. 

But  now,  supposing  that  no  faculty  regulation 
whatever  exists  as  to  attendance.  There  arises  at  once 
between  teacher  and  taught  a  relation  appalling  in  its 
simplicity  to  the  men  of  little  faith,  but  inspiring  and 
profoundly  educative  in  its  effect.  It  is  the  relation 
which  has  existed  between  all  good  teachers  and  all 
willing  learners  since  Socrates  and  Alcibiades,  since 
Abelard  and  Arnold  of  Brescia,  since  Mark  Hopkins 
and  James  Garfield.  Alcibiades,  Arnold,  and  Garfield 
are  perfect  types  of  the  picked  youth  seeking  instruc- 
tion where  best  they  could  find  it  and  bound  to  their 
teachers  by  no  other  tie  than  the  confidence  that  their 
instruction  was  worth  while.  In  this  free  relation  the 
teacher  is  compelled  to  give  such  instruction  that  the 
student  cannot  afford  to  miss  it.  In  most  systematic 
teaching  there  is  a  natural  continuity  which  of  itself 
is  enough  to  secure  as  regular  attendance  as  any  uni- 
versity college  is  likely  to  require  by  rule. 

The  student  comes  then  to  his  classes,  not  from  any 


COLLEGE  DISCIPLINE  103 

angelic  sense  of  duty  but  because  it  pays.  He  gets 
there  something  which  he  can  get  nowhere  else  and 
which  he  must  have  in  order  to  meet  the  final  purpose 
of  his  college  life  toward  which  he  is  continually  look- 
ing forward.  If  he  is  not  present  with  fair  regularity  he 
cannot  do  the  work  of  his  class.  If  he  is  foolish  enough 
to  indulge  in  long  lapses  from  attendance  he  meets  with 
perfect  naturalness  the  rational  consequence.  He  is 
forbidden  to  enjoy  the  privilege  he  has  abused.  He 
turns  himself  out  of  the  company  he  has  not  chosen  to 
keep  up  with.  If  his  negligence  covers  a  great  part  of 
his  work  he  simply  turns  himself  out  of  college.  He 
cannot  feel  himself  the  victim  of  any  too  rigid  regula- 
tion; there  has  been  no  regulation  at  all.  He  has  dis- 
ciplined himself  by  the  process  through  which  youth 
and  age  alike  are  always  being  disciplined,  by  the  con- 
sequences of  his  own  acts.  It  is  the  sternest  of  all 
discipline,  and  yet,  so  curiously  are  we  blinded  to  the 
realities  of  things  that  to  many  persons  it  appears  like 
positive  neglect  and  shiftlessness  on  the  part  of  those 
whom  such  critics  like  to  describe  as  the  "guardians 
of  youth." 

Unquestionably  there  is  a  temptation  on  the  part  of 
college  authorities  to  administer  carelessly  a  system  of 
liberty.  It  makes  far  higher  demands  upon  the  in- 
sight, the  faith,  the  courage  and  the  persistence  of 
executive  officers  and  teachers  than  any  system  of 
precise  regulation.  It  is  far  easier  to  impress  the  public 
by  showing  a  fine  scheme  of  rules,  no  matter  how  badly 
they  work,  than  by  keeping  up  a  continuous  demand 
upon  the  reason  and  conscience  of  youth,  with  the  inev- 


io4  LEARNING  AND  LIVING 

itable  cases  of  apparent  failure.  And  on  the  side  of  the 
student,  youth  is  not  alone  in  a  too  willing  dependence 
upon  crutches.  Nothing  is  more  depressing  than  the 
readiness  with  which  students  will  slump  back  into 
irresponsibility  as  fast  as  they  are  permitted  to  do 
so.  A  clever  college  president  has  recently  spoken  of 
"student  activities"  by  way  of  contrast  with  "  the  pas- 
sivities of  the  class-room."  The  whole  problem  of  dis- 
cipline is  to  convert  passivity  into  activity  through 
convincing  the  youth  that  intellectual  things  are  really 
worth  his  while.  The  initiative  toward  this  conversion 
cannot  come  from  the  student.  His  sense  of  something 
wrong  in  the  method  of  treating  him  can  express  itself 
only  in  vague  resistance,  not  in  constructive  sugges- 
tion. The  motive  must  be  supplied  by  the  governing 
powers,  educational  and  executive  together,  or  it  will 
not  come  at  all. 

With  all  due  caution  in  making  comparisons  with 
foreign  countries,  it  is  instructive  to  remember  that 
nowhere  in  the  civilized  world  are  youths  of  our  col- 
legiate age  subjected  to  the  kind  of  super-regulation  we 
accept  as  a  matter  of  course.  Even  in  England,  whose 
traditions  we  have  more  nearly  followed  than  any 
others,  the  step  from  school  to  college  is  more  sharply 
accented.  Except  for  certain  rather  superficial  phys- 
ical restrictions,  the  English  college  youth  is  freer  in 
his  movements  in  all  that  relates  to  his  studies,  a  free- 
dom based  largely  upon  his  sense  of  accountability  in 
the  remote  future.  And  as  to  the  Continent,  the  an- 
swer of  the  German  student  to  a  stranger  asking  the 
way  to  the  university  is  characteristic:  "Excuse  me, 


COLLEGE  DISCIPLINE  105 

Sir;  this  is  only  my  third  semester."  Such  laxity  as 
that  we  in  America  are  certainly  not  prepared  for.  We 
are  bound  to  preserve  something  of  the  ancient  col- 
legiate tradition  which  made  the  college  accountable 
to  families  for  the  conduct  of  their  sons. 

It  is  the  special  privilege  of  the  university  college  to 
interpret  this  obligation  as  liberally  as  possible,  not 
that  it  may  escape  from  thought  or  responsibility,  but 
that  it  may  help  the  student  to  the  highest  form  of  dis- 
cipline. How  far,  then,  may  it  wisely  go  in  the  matter 
of  attendance?  Its  guides  in  solving  this  question 
should  be  on  the  one  hand,  that  it  is  bound  to  have 
some  knowledge  of  the  student's  general  fidelity  to  his 
regular  duty  and  on  the  other,  that  mere  bodily  pres- 
ence at  college  exercises  without  active  participation  in 
them  is  of  no  value  whatever.  A  record  of  attendance 
may  be  kept,  because  such  a  record  is  in  itself  no  en- 
croachment upon  personal  liberty.  It  is  a  mere  device 
for  procuring  statistics.  In  so  far  as  it  is  made  use  of  for 
enforcing  unwilling  attendance  it  is  a  positive  evil.  If 
the  record  of  a  student  shows  persistent  absence  in  any 
one  course  of  study,  he  should  be  required  to  explain  it, 
and  every  allowance  should  be  made  for  the  un- 
doubted fact  that  well-considered  absence  may  often 
be  of  much  more  use  than  unthinking  presence.  If  his 
acount  is  satisfactory,  as  it  well  may  be,  he  should  be 
let  alone.  If  not,  the  privilege  of  attendance  at  this 
particular  course,  which  he  has  not  found  worth  his 
while,  should  be  withdrawn. 

If,  however,  his  neglect  in  attendance  all  round 
shows  a  settled  purpose,  it  should  be  accepted  as  evi- 


io6  LEARNING  AND  LIVING 

dence  that  he  is  not  a  useful  member  of  the  academic 
community  and  he  should  be  required  to  separate  him- 
self from  it.  Not,  be  it  well  understood,  as  punishment. 
The  university  college  has  no  place  for  punitive  dis- 
cipline. Separation  is  simply  an  answer  to  his  own  real 
desire  as  expressed  by  his  actions.  Whenever  he  can 
show  by  other  actions  a  reasonable  promise  of  readiness 
to  use  well  the  academic  privilege,  it  should  be  opened 
to  him  again.  There  is  a  phrase  hallowed  by  long  usage 
in  a  certain  academic  connection  which  ought  to  be 
published  as  expressing  the  sum  and  substance  of  uni- 
versity college  discipline:  "Any  student  may  be  de- 
prived of  his  privileges  at  any  time,  if  he  abuse  or  fail 
to  use  them."  It  should  never  be  forgotten  that  the 
obligation  of  the  student  to  attend  is  no  greater  than 
that  of  the  teacher  to  give  him  something  that  is  worth 
his  while.  If  he  is  tolerably  certain  that  at  a  given 
point  the  teacher  is  not  going  to  fulfil  his  obligation, 
then  his  own  is  released,  and  he  is  perfectly  right  in 
finding  a  better  use  for  his  time.  Free  attendance  thus 
becomes  a  positive  agent  in  toning  up  the  whole  mech- 
anism of  instruction.  It  may  be  abused,  but  in  the 
main  the  control  is  in  the  teacher's  hands.  The  motto 
of  the  good  teacher  is:  "I  want  no  hearers  who  do  not 
want  to  hear!" 

The  system  of  freedom,  applied  with  due  watchful- 
ness and  rational  guidance  is  not  an  easy  one  to  admin- 
ister. If  this  is  true  in  regard  to  personal  attendance, 
it  is  even  more  so  in  the  very  complicated  matter  of 
academic  bookkeeping.  Just  as  there  are  persons  to 
whom  the  notion  of  a  regular  and  orderly  mechanical 


COLLEGE  DISCIPLINE  107 

attendance  appeals  as  evidence  of  interest  and  prog- 
ress, so  there  is  an  order  of  mind  for  which  the  idea  of 
a  systematic  and  "accurate"  account  between  every 
student  and  the  college  authorities  has  a  deadly  fas- 
cination. To  such  a  mind  the  spectacle  of  a  graded  list 
upon  which  every  member  of  a  college  class  is  duly 
credited  with  so  much  scholarly  accomplishment  is  an 
object  of  positive  beauty.  It  is  not  so  very  long  since 
all  our  education  from  bottom  to  top  was  controlled  by 
this  demon  of  statistics.  Even  in  our  colleges  every 
academic  exercise  was  checked  and  ticketed  off  to  the 
account  of  every  student  like  the  sales  in  a  retail  shop. 
The  function  of  the  teacher  was  largely  one  of  judging 
and  valuing  the  daily  and  hourly  performances  of  his 
students,  and  his  skill  and  fairness  in  this  kind  of  aca- 
demic shop-keeping  were  of  far  more  immediate  im- 
portance in  their  eyes  than  his  learning  or  his  aptness 
to  teach. 

At  a  great  dinner  in  celebration  of  a  professor's  jubi- 
lee, it  was  curious  to  notice  that  what  drew  these  gen- 
erations of  former  pupils  together  was  not  in  the  least 
their  recollection  of  anything  he  had  ever  taught  them, 
but  a  kind  of  filial  regard  for  his  upright  and  down- 
right character.  It  was  summed  up  in  such  remarks  as 
these:  "He  never  added  anything  to  science.  Of 
course  we  never  learned  anything  from  him;  but  he 
was  always  fairl"  A  contemporary  of  this  "teacher" 
but  of  the  opposite  type,  a  man  to  whom  learning  was 
everything  and  machinery  nothing,  was  driven  by  the 
same  foolish  conditions  upon  the  other  horn  of  the 
dilemma.  It  was  told  of  him  that  when  a  certain  stu- 


io8  LEARNING  AND  LIVING 

dent  of  excellent  ability  in  his  subject  sought  correction 
of  a  very  low  grade  on  the  ground  of  possible  confusion 
with  a  very  bad  student  of  the  same  name,  he  only  re- 
plied: "You  must  take  your  chance,  Sir!  You  must 
take  your  chance!"  The  fault  in  both  cases  was  not  in 
the  man,  nor  yet  in  the  pupil.  It  was  in  the  absurd 
system  and  in  the  false  pedagogy  that  lay  behind  it. 
A  classmate  of  mine  applied  to  a  mathematical  pro- 
fessor not  destitute  of  humor  for  revision  of  grade  and 
was  answered  next  day:  "Yes,  Mr.  X,  I  was  in  error. 
I  have  reexamined  your  book  and  take  pleasure  in 
raising  your  grade  from  67  to  68."  One  of  my  col- 
leagues always  told  his  students:  "I  shall  be  glad  to 
reread  any  examination  books,  provided  you  will  take 
the  chance  of  a  reduction  in  grade."  Such  anecdotes 
could  be  indefinitely  multiplied.  They  illustrate  the 
pitiful,  pettifogging  business  in  which  men  of  learning 
and  students  of  promise  were  involved  so  long  as  they 
remained  subject  to  the  fundamental  error  that  intel- 
lectual accomplishment  can  be  graded  and  registered 
like  the  output  of  a  factory.  One  has  only  to  go  back  a 
little  further  to  find  a  time  when  moral  conduct  and 
scholarship  were  tied  up  together  in  the  college  book- 
keeping. If  a  student  threw  a  snowball  in  the  college 
grounds,  or  was  late  to  prayers  or  got  tipsy,  his  record 
of  scholarship  was  docked  according  to  a  scale  of 
prices. 

Such  blatant  absurdity  as  this  was  recognized  a  good 
while  ago,  but  we  are  not  yet  delivered  from  the  false 
principle  that  lay  behind  it.  In  the  long  warfare  be- 
tween the  Faculty  and  the  "Office,"  it  is  only  eternal 


COLLEGE  DISCIPLINE  109 

vigilance  that  can  prevent  the  poisonous  gas  of  the 
competitive  marking  system  from  clogging  the  arteries 
and  dulling  the  will  alike  of  teachers  and  taught.  The 
principle  is  false  not  only  because  it  proposes  to  do  the 
impossible,  that  is  to  grade  intellectual  work  ac- 
curately, but  because  it  sets  a  false  standard  for  es- 
timating the  final  result  of  the  student's  academic 
course.  It  tends  to  glorify  the  man  who  "has  never 
missed  a  lecture,"  or  who  has  never  "got"  less  than 
ninety  per  cent  in  a  "course."  It  helps  the  man  to 
"get  by,"  who  has  "half  his  work  above  C"  or  who 
has  only  "three  D's"  to  his  discredit.  Very  recently  a 
student  graduating  with  the  highest  reputation  for 
true  scholarship  from  an  important  university  college 
was  refused  "highest  honors"  because  at  some  time  in 
the  remote  past  of  his  Freshman  year  he  had  "got  a  C  " 
in  an  elementary  course!  Not  a  word  as  to  his  steady 
growth  in  intellectual  character.  Not  an  inquiry  as  to 
his  actual  command  of  a  subject  or  his  quality  as  a 
man  of  power  in  the  things  of  the  intellect.  Only  a 
deadly  rule  of  thumb  such  as  might  be  useful  in  making 
weather  statistics  or  in  tabulating  the  reports  of  the 
stock  market,  but  has  no  place  in  the  process  of  making 
an  educated  man. 

Such  a  case  as  this  brings  out  into  glaring  contrast 
two  conflicting  ideas  of  what  education  is  and  what  it  is 
for.  The  one  presents  education  as  the  regular  per- 
formance of  so  many  allotted  tasks  with  even  excel- 
lence, with  little  regard  to  their  relation  with  each  other 
or  to  any  specific  end.  The  other  regards  education  as 
first  the  acquisition  of  a  modicum  of  knowledge  and 


i  io  LEARNING  AND  LIVING 

then  the  gaining  of  power  to  use  this  or  any  other 
knowledge  for  productive  ends.  If  the  former  is  the 
right  ideal  then  by  all  means  let  us  have  the  marking 
system  in  all  its  perfection,  with  its  percentages,  its 
averages,  its  small  rivalries  and  its  empty  triumphs. 
If  the  latter  is  right,  then  all  the  weight  of  discipline 
should  be  applied  to  fix  the  attention  upon  the  distant 
goal  of  some  real  accomplishment  of  knowledge  and  of 
capacity.  Between  these  two  ideals  there  is  no  per- 
manent compromise.  The  lower  nullifies  the  higher; 
the  higher  drives  out  the  lower,  as  a  gold  standard 
drives  out  the  silver  which  tends  to  degrade  it.  The 
university  college  must  make  up  its  mind  which  of 
these  gods  it  will  serve,  and  in  this  choice  the  influence 
of  the  university  ought  to  be  decisive.  As  the  univer- 
sity trains  for  professional  ends,  so  the  college  should 
have  its  equally  well-defined  though  not  professional 
aim,  and  toward  this  aim  all  its  effort  should  be 
directed.  But  one  objector  will  say:  "That  is  all 
very  well,  but  the  college  "boy"  is  incapable  of  work- 
ing toward  distant  ends."  Is  he?  Watch  him  at  his 
games,  and  find  the  answer.  Where  is  the  motive  that 
leads  him  to  subject  himself  to  the  self-denials,  the 
physical  hardships,  the  dreary  monotony  of  months  of 
training?  It  is  the  far  off  goal  of  the  final  struggle  on 
field  or  river.  Here  no  one  asks  how  he  rowed  six 
months  ago;  the  question  is:  how  does  he  row  now?  Is 
his  form  good,  his  heart  sound,  can  he  stay  now?  And 
lately,  when  the  call  to  arms  went  singing  through  the 
land,  where  were  these  "boys"  then?  They  saw  the 
end  from  the  beginning.  The  vision  of  themselves 


COLLEGE  DISCIPLINE  in 

leading  their  mates  into  battle  for  the  right  made  them 
forget  the  long  months  of  weary  preparation,  the  dan- 
gers of  camp  and  field,  and  they  went. 

No,  if  the  college  follows  a  lower  instead  of  a  higher 
ideal,  it  is  not  the  student  who  is  at  fault.  I  rejoice  to 
give  my  testimony  that  I  have  never  known  a  case  in 
which  students  did  not  respond  to  the  highest  de- 
mands made  upon  them  when  they  were  made  to  un- 
derstand what  such  demands  meant.  On  the  other 
hand,  I  have  never  known  students  —  or  any  other 
class  of  persons  —  to  fail  to  slump  when  low  ideals 
were  set  before  them.  It  is  not  the  students;  it  is  those 
who  administer  the  affairs  of  the  college  who  do  not  see 
clearly  or  seeing  have  not  the  spirit  to  carry  through 
the  best  they  know. 

I  dwell  upon  this  matter  of  the  marking  system  be- 
cause it  touches  so  closely  upon  the  daily  thought  of 
the  student.  It  is  idle  to  preach  high  ideals  when  we 
are  offering  low  ones.  The  high  ideals  are  remote  and 
doubtful;  the  low  ones  are  close  at  hand,  continuous 
and  certain.  If  we  are  content  to  have  the  youth  "get 
by,"  he  is  not  going  to  trouble  himself  greatly  about 
the  more  solid  things.  A  detailed  grading  system  can- 
not exist  together  with  real  academic  freedom.  It  is 
undoubtedly  a  convenience  in  several  ways.  It  gives 
to  the  college  at  every  moment  the  means  of  answering 
superficially  inquiries  as  to  what  we  call  the  student's 
"standing."  It  enables  parents  to  receive  prompt  in- 
formation of  a  formal  sort  about  their  sons.  It  answers, 
in  short,  all  the  bookkeeping  requirements  necessarily 
involved  in  a  parental  system  of  education.  Further- 


ii2  LEARNING  AND  LIVING 

more  it  is  not  unwelcome  to  the  student  body  as  a 
whole.  In  our  times  of  weakness  we  all  welcome  the 
formal,  mechanical  props  that  aim  to  replace  the  more 
painful  support  of  our  own  disciplined  wills.  The  dif- 
ference is  that  we  elders  know  when  we  are  dodging, 
and  the  youth  does  not.  If  he  does  what  we  "require" 
he  thinks  he  has  a  right  to  feel  that  he  has  done 
enough  and  may  go  play  with  a  clear  conscience.  The 
whole  problem  of  a  sound  discipline  is  to  make  him  feel 
that  it  is  not  we  who  are  "requiring"  anything  of  him, 
but  that  it  is  he  and  he  alone  who  profits  by  diligence 
and  loses  by  neglect.  Whatever  in  our  administration 
of  this  great  trust  interferes  with  that  understanding 
of  discipline  either  on  his  side  or  on  ours  is  contrary  to 
the  spirit  of  the  university  college. 

I  venture  to  believe  that  any  rigid  system  of  grading 
based  upon  fragmentary  bits  of  work,  kept  always  be- 
fore the  mind  of  the  student  and  published  to  the 
world  is  such  an  interference  with  sound  discipline  and 
therefore  has  no  place  in  university  conditions.  The 
pretense  of  discipline  it  offers  is  bad,  because  it  holds 
up  to  the  student  standards  which  he  knows  to  be 
fictitious,  inexact,  and  incomplete.  He  laughs  at  the 
fiction,  he  grumbles  at  the  inaccuracy,  and  he  invents 
devices  for  getting  round  the  insufficiency.  It  is  a  prop 
to  the  idle,  because  it  sets  for  him  a  low  visible  line 
which  he  can  reach  with  a  minimum  of  effort  and  then 
imagine  that  he  has  fulfilled  all  requirements.  It  is  an 
abuse  of  the  diligent,  because  it  tempts  him  contin- 
ually to  apply  his  diligence  to  fictitious  ends. 

There  are  two  practical  defenses  of  a  marking  sys- 


COLLEGE  DISCIPLINE  113 

tern :  one,  that  it  is  a  necessary  spur  to  effort,  the  other, 
that  it  is  the  only  means  by  which  college  honors  and 
pecuniary  assistance  can  be  wisely  assigned.   The  first 
argument  appeals  especially  to  those  who  think  of  dis- 
cipline as  primarily  intended  to  "get  work  out  of  stu- 
dents," without  special  anxiety  as  to  the  kind  of  work 
or  the  spirit  in  which  it  is  done.   Now,  doubtless  men 
can  always  be  kept  at  work  by  a  penal  system,  and 
they  may  be  fairly  happy  under  it;  but  in  college  life 
there  will  be  certain  weak  points  in  its  appeal.  It  is  no 
use  to  preach  the  fear  of  hell  to  the  modern  sinner;  he 
calmly  replies:  "There  is  no  such  thing"  and  sins  away 
as  merrily  as  ever.    So  the  indifferent  student,  by  no 
means  always  the  least  clever,  quietly  calculates  his 
chances,  skims  along  the  edge  of  the  fictitious  aca- 
demic limbo  and  defies  the  authorities  to  "get  any 
more  out  of  him."   Really,  so  far  as  discipline  is  con- 
cerned, he  comes  off  rather  better  than  the  better  stu- 
dent.  He  makes  himself  no  illusions.   It  is  a  fair  fight 
between  himself  and  the  office,  and  with  a  not  exces- 
sive amount  of  strategy  he  is  sure  of  a  victory.    For 
here  as  always,  when  there  is  a  straight  issue  between 
the  government   and   the  student,   the   government 
will  get  beaten.    Nothing  is  more  idle  than  to  invent 
devices  for  getting  the  better  of  the  student.  He  is  al- 
ways the  cleverer  party.   Our  only  safety  lies  in  pre- 
senting the  aims  of  academic  life  to  him  in  their  highest 
and  clearest  light  as  privilege  and  opportunity  and 
then  leaving  it  to  him  whether  he  will  accept  or  reject 
them.  That  is  the  sharpest  spur  there  is,  and  it  is  the 
only  one  he  needs. 


ii4  LEARNING  AND  LIVING 

The  subject  of  "college  honors"  is  too  large  to  be 
treated  here  in  detail.  Such  distinctions  are  warmly 
defended  and  violently  opposed.  In  so  far  as  their  de- 
fense rests,  as  it  usually  does,  on  their  value  as  incite- 
ments to  scholarship,  they  come  fairly  under  the  head 
of  discipline.  The  arguments  for  and  against  them  turn 
generally  upon  the  usefulness  of  competition  in  educa- 
tion. They  are  usually  defended  by  those  who  approve 
of  competition,  rejected  by  those  who  do  not.  But  this 
does  not  go  to  the  root  of  the  matter.  Competition  in 
education  is  useful  or  not  according  to  the  spirit  of 
work  it  may  develop.  If  it  is  a  competition  going  on 
from  day  to  day  and  hour  to  hour,  involving  contin- 
uous comparison  and  stimulating  to  effort  merely  to  get 
ahead,  like  the  tacking  of  racing  yachts,  it  is  a  thor- 
oughly vicious  thing.  It  is  vicious  because  the  mind  of 
the  student  is  thereby  kept  more  on  the  competition 
than  on  his  actual  progress,  and  he  fancies  himself  to 
be  going  straight  on  when  he  is  only  tacking  round  his 
rival.  This  is  the  kind  of  competition  maintained  and 
encouraged  by  the  marking  of  daily  exercises,  by  fre- 
quent examinations  and  the  publication  of  continuous 
rank-lists  during  a  college  course.  "Honors"  based 
upon  this  kind  of  competition  deserve  all  the  contempt 
they  have  so  abundantly  received. 

But  there  is  a  competition  quite  different  from  this. 
It  is  designed  to  bring  out  evidence  of  special  capacity 
at  certain  points  in  the  student's  progress.  All  the 
petty  accidents  of  daily  class  work  are  here  left  out  of 
the  account.  At  stated  periods  the  student  is  called 
upon  to  show  what  use  he  has  been  making  of  his  privi- 


COLLEGE  DISCIPLINE  115 

leges.  This  may  be  by  means  of  examination  questions 
written  or  oral,  or  by  other  written  work  of  various 
kinds  involving  special,  independent  and  original  in- 
quiry or  experiment.  This  is  a  true  competition,  but  it 
is  one  in  which  each  competitor  runs  his  race  alone.  It 
can  be  so  conducted  that  the  work  is  more  in  evidence 
than  the  rivalry,  and  this  is  the  more  true  the  longer 
the  intervals  of  study  and  the  more  really  significant 
the  tests.  "Theses"  of  considerable  length,  requiring 
long  periods  of  research,  give  an  admirable  discipline  in 
themselves  and  furnish  one  excellent  test  of  individual 
ability.  Liable  as  they  certainly  are  to  great  abuses,  if 
rightly  managed  and  fairly  judged  they  come  as  near  to 
real  tests  of  acquirement  as  are  attainable  under  aca- 
demic conditions. 

The  same  may  be  said  on  the  much  disputed  ques- 
tion of  special  prizes  for  specific  pieces  of  work.  Rightly 
administered  such  prizes  are  thoroughly  useful  as  a 
means  of  discipline.  There  is  a  reality  about  them  that 
is  lacking  in  so  many  other  forms  of  college  honors. 
The  work  thus  rewarded  may  be  of  many  kinds,  but  it 
can  always  be  so  planned  as  to  offer  a  chance  for  real 
scholarly  accomplishment.  A  long  experience  in  the 
administration  of  a  group  of  such  prizes  given  for  excel- 
lence in  "useful  and  polite  learning"  has  convinced  me 
that  foundations  for  this  purpose,  holding  up  as  they 
do  from  one  generation  of  college  youth  to  another 
standards  of  scholarly  quality  only  too  likely  to  be 
lowered  in  the  mechanisms  of  daily  teaching,  are  among 
the  most  valuable  additions  to  the  resources  of  the  uni- 
versity. Our  conclusion  is,  then,  that  college  honors  are 


ii6  LEARNING  AND  LIVING 

good  or  bad  according  as  they  help  or  hinder  in  en- 
forcing our  idea  of  discipline.  They  help  when  they  rest 
upon  real,  honest,  independent  work  done  for  its  own 
sake.  They  hinder  when  they  involve  a  fictitious  com- 
petition that  tends  to  obscure  the  value  of  the  work 
itself. 

The  assignment  of  pecuniary  aids  to  students  is  a 
matter  of  peculiar  delicacy.    Provision  for  such  aid  has 
been  made  in  America  with  generous,  sometimes  with 
lavish  hand.    One  hears  at  times  wholesale  condemna- 
tion of  the  principle  itself;  but  it  is  safe  to  say  that  we 
are  not  likely  to  see  in  any  visible  future  any  sensible 
diminution  in  so  appealing  a  form  of  altruistic  effort. 
The  problems  are  those  of  method,  not  of  principle,  and 
the  most  perplexing  of  them  is:  to  what  extent,  if  at 
all,  should  the  applicants  for  aid  be  distinguished  from 
their  more  "fortunate"  mates?    On  this  point  the 
American   instinct  is   against  any   formal,  officially 
recognized  discrimination.   It  is  true  that  most  of  our 
foundations  are  specifically  or  by  implication  intended 
for  the  benefit  of  "needy  and  deserving"  youths;  but 
in  the  application  of  them  we  shrink  from  creating  a 
class  of  students  "branded,"  as  some  would  say,  with 
the  mark  of  poverty.    By  whatever  tests  the  aid  in 
question  is  to  be  granted,  we  have  felt  that  they  ought 
to  be  applied  to  rich  and  poor  alike.  To  put  it  in  other 
words,  we  have  not  generally  been  willing  to  set  up 
special  examinations  or  other  tests  for  applicants  for 
scholarships. 

The  feeling  that  underlies  this  reluctance  is  fine  and 
generous,  but  it  has  had  certain  consequences  affecting 


COLLEGE  DISCIPLINE  117 

seriously  our  whole  subject  of  academic  discipline.   It 
has  added  one  more  argument  for  the  maintenance  of  a 
general  competitive  grading  system  in  which  the  appli- 
cants for  scholarships  should  find  themselves  entered 
on  precisely  the  same  terms  as  all  others.   In  fact,  so 
far  as  my  experience  goes,  this  argument  has  weighed 
more  in  the  minds  —  or  shall  we  say  in  the  feelings  ?  — 
of  the  official  defenders  of  such  a  system,  than  all  the 
rest  put  together.    "Show  us  how  to  assign  scholar- 
ships without  individual  grading  on  the  basis  of  fre- 
quent tests  and  we  will  cheerfully  abandon  the  whole 
scheme,"  has  been  the  frequent  reply  to  criticism. 
That  brings  the  issue  quite  clearly  before  us.   Is  it  of 
more  importance  to  maintain  a  sentiment  of  doubtful 
value  or  to  insist  upon  a  principle  of  discipline  that 
should  sustain  and  ennoble  and  make  vital  every  in- 
cident of  the  academic  life?  I  say  "of  doubtful  value," 
because  after  all  poverty  in  itself  is  no  disgrace.    In 
the  generous  competitions  of  youth  it  is  not  even  a 
handicap.  If  we  are  convinced  that  special  tests  for 
scholarship  applicants  would  relieve  the  college  of  a 
burden  it  ought  not  to  carry,  then  it  would  seem  to  be 
a  manifest  duty  to  establish  them.    Properly  admin- 
istered they  could  be  made  a  thing  of  honor  without  a 
shade  of  unworthy  reflection  being  cast  upon  them.  If 
a  youth  asks  for  a  special  privilege,  it  can  hardly  seem 
unjust  that  he  should  expect  to  meet  some  special 
conditions.   If  something  like  the  scheme  of  examina- 
tions described  below  be  assumed,  it  would  go  far  to- 
ward giving  the  information  necessary  for  scholarship 
purposes.    Special  tests  at  more  frequent  intervals 


ii8  LEARNING  AND  LIVING 

could  be  administered  without  great  difficulty  for  the 
college  and  with  little  interference  with  the  student's 
proper  liberty  of  action. 

So  we  come  to  the  still  more  vexing  subject  of  ex- 
aminations. The  holding  of  more  or  less  frequent  tests 
is  defended  on  two  grounds,  first,  as  a  means  of  fur- 
nishing certificates  of  various  sorts  for  practical  ends, 
such  for  example  as  promotion  to  academic  grades, 
transfer  from  one  institution  to  another,  granting  of 
scholarships,  paid  employment  both  in  college  and 
afterward,  and  so  on;  second,  as  a  means  of  discipline. 
The  "practical"  handiness  of  examinations  for  these 
purposes  is  beyond  question.  It  concerns  us  here  only 
in  this  way:  is  it  a  compensation  for  obvious  defects  on 
the  side  of  discipline?  We  insist  here  only  upon  one 
principle:  that,  where  the  practical  purpose  in  any  way 
conflicts  with  the  disciplinary,  that  is,  with  the  forma- 
tion of  the  highest  type  of  academic  character,  it  must 
somehow  be  made  to  conform,  or  it  must  be  aban- 
doned. Nothing  can  justify  any  academic  machinery 
which  works  against  the  very  highest  purpose  of  the 
university. 

We  frequently  hear  examinations  spoken  of  as  if 
they  were  an  unmitigated,  if  a  necessary,  evil.  If  this 
means  that  they  are  a  great  nuisance  to  the  examiner, 
a  sad  consumer  of  valuable  time,  an  intolerable  inter- 
ruption to  the  work  of  study  and  teaching,  and,  after 
all,  untrustworthy  as  evidence  of  scholarly  accomplish- 
ment, all  this  may  be  admitted  at  once.  This  does  not, 
however,  prove  that  examinations  ought  to  be  given  up; 
for  these  are  evils  of  the  kind  that  belong  to  all  human 


COLLEGE  DISCIPLINE  119 

routine.  If,  on  the  other  hand,  we  mean  that  they  in- 
terfere with  the  full  and  free  working  of  our  academic 
discipline,  then  they  should  be  abandoned  or  so  modi- 
fied as  to  escape  this  charge.  The  principal  problems 
under  this  head  are:  how  frequently  may  examina- 
tions wisely  be  held?  by  whom  should  they  be  set? 
what  form  should  they  take  ?  what  shall  depend  upon 
them? 

So  far  as  discipline  is  concerned,  the  most  important 
question  is  as  to  the  relation  between  the  teaching  and 
the  examining  functions.  To  what  extent  should  they 
be  kept  in  the  same  hands,  and  how  far  may  they 
wisely  be  separated.  On  the  one  side  we  have  the  ex- 
ample of  most  European  countries,  where  examinations 
are,  as  a  rule,  infrequent,  occurring  only  at  a  few  criti- 
cal points  in  the  student's  career  and  held  by  some 
authority  quite  independent  of  his  own  special  teach- 
ers. On  the  other  hand  we  have  our  own  American 
tradition  of  tolerably  frequent  examinations,  covering 
small  and  detached  pieces  of  work  and  conducted  en- 
tirely by  the  men  who  have  done  the  preparatory 
teaching.  The  advantage  of  the  European  system  is 
that  the  student  stands  in  no  commercial  relation  to 
the  teacher.  He  has  nothing  to  get  from  him  except  a 
knowledge  of  his  subject;  the  teacher  as  such  has  no 
legitimate  influence  upon  the  examination.  The  evil  of 
the  system,  an  evil  so  great  that  it  has  led  many  intel- 
ligent critics  to  condemn  it  from  top  to  bottom  is  just 
in  the  opposite  sense:  the  examination  influences  the 
teacher.  Almost  inevitably  teaching  under  this  sys- 
tem tends  to  become  a  cram,  and  the  teacher  to  de- 


lio 

generate  into  the  slave  of  an  examining  board  in  which 
he  has  no  part.  The  disciplinary  effect  is  to  give  the 
student  a  false  conception  of  learning  as  of  a  mechan- 
ical process,  a  thing  of  so  much  "reading"  and  so  much 
facility  at  putting  results  into  tangible  shape. 

The  apparent  advantage  of  our  American  method  is 
that  the  teacher  is  nominally  far  more  free  to  teach  as 
he  will,  but  his  relation  to  the  student  is  subjected  to  a 
severe  handicap.  He  may  do  his  best  as  teacher,  but 
he  cannot  conceal  the  fact  that  he  is  also  the  examiner, 
upon  whose  personal  equation  depends  in  great  part 
the  academic  fate  of  his  pupils.  They  may  have  every 
respect  for  his  learning  and  his  character,  but,  if  he  is  a 
"hard  marker"  they  will  beware  of  him.  In  any  case 
they  will  be  far  too  much  concerned  to  find  out  "what 
he  wants  them  to  do"  than  with  the  subject  itself. 

In  regard  to  frequency  a  similar  comparison  may  be 
made.  In  Europe  the  examination  generally  covers  a 
considerable  period  of  study  and  determines  by  one, 
two,  or  three  great  tests  the  future  of  the  candidate. 
With  us  official  and  recorded  examinations  are  gen- 
erally held  at  the  close  of  each  brief  stage  of  progress, 
and  the  candidate's  final  standing  is  determined  by 
some  crude  process  of  averaging.  The  theory  of  the 
European  examination  is  that  it  is  a  test  of  the  can- 
didate's learning  and  power  after  completing  a  con- 
siderable course  of  study.  The  American  theory  is  that 
examinations  are  a  kind  of  taking  account  of  stock  as 
one  goes  along,  a  theory  which  easily  degenerates  into 
the  notion  that  a  subject  once  "passed"  is  so  much 
"worked  off"  to  be  set  aside  forever.  The  European 


COLLEGE  DISCIPLINE  121 

plan  tends  to  diminish  the  importance  of  the  teaching 
process,  especially  in  the  earlier  stages.  The  American 
plan  tends  to  over-emphasize  it.  The  former  lays 
stress  on  the  element  of  power;  the  latter  on  the  ele- 
ment of  regular  acquirement.  In  Europe  the  examina- 
tion is  a  spur  to  effort  only  in  that  meaning  of  a  far  off 
goal  we  have  already  tried  to  make  clear.  In  America 
the  use  as  a  daily  spur  is  what  chiefly  recommends  it, 
and  we  have  sometimes  been  led  to  the  logical  con- 
clusion that  the  more  we  have  of  such  a  good  thing  the 
better. 

To  put  this  distinction  in  another  way,  we  may  dis- 
tinguish between  examinations  as  a  means  of  instruc- 
tion and  as  a  basis  of  record.  These  two  purposes  have 
obviously  nothing  in  common,  and  yet  in  practice  they 
have  been  rather  hopelessly  confused.  It  seems  to  be 
generally  assumed  that  the  results  of  all  examinations 
must  be  tabulated,  kept  in  the  official  records  and  used 
at  the  discretion  of  "the  office"  for  its  manifold  de- 
vices. A  moment's  thought  will  convince  anyone  that 
no  such  necessity  exists.  Examinations  as  a  means  of 
instruction  have  their  own  proper  and  useful  place. 
Every  teacher  should  be  at  liberty  to  employ  this 
mechanism  as  he  would  any  other  to  accomplish  some 
pedagogic  end,  but  he  should  be  at  liberty  also  to  keep 
the  results  to  himself  or  impart  them  to  his  students  or 
destroy  them,  as  may  seem  best  to  him.  They  need  not 
be  made  a  matter  of  official  record.  To  enforce  this 
distinction  it  might  be  well  to  designate  such  exercises 
by  some  specific  name,  as,  for  example,  "repetitions," 
reserving  the  word  "examinations"  for  the  larger  and 


122  LEARNING  AND  LIVING 

more  formal  recorded  tests  by  which  some  honor  is  to 
be  conferred,  promotion  granted,  or  scholarships  as- 
signed. The  educational  value  of  such  repetitions,  oral 
or  written,  has  been  in  danger  of  eclipse  through  the 
great  increase  of  instruction  by  lectures.  The  experi- 
ence of  the  late  William  James,  who  said  that  he  found 
himself  lecturing  more  and  more  because  that  was  the 
line  of  least  resistance  is  doubtless  typical  of  all  teach- 
ers who  have  passed  through  the  transition  from  the 
required  curriculum  to  the  system  of  free  choice  of 
studies.  We  have  all  felt  on  the  one  hand  the  immense 
gain  in  the  possibilities  of  real  instruction,  but  on  the 
other  we  have  all  seen  with  increasing  regret  the  grow- 
ing incapacity  of  students  to  express  in  words  the  re- 
sults of  their  studies.  The  kind  of  repetitions  I  have 
here  in  mind  would  go  far  to  diminish  this  evil.  They 
could  be  made  valuable  supplements  to  the  word  of  the 
teacher  provided  only  that  they  do  not  come  to  be  re- 
garded as  so  many  clubs  to  diligence  or  threats  of 
punishment.  The  old-fashioned  "recitation"  with  all 
its  pedagogic  horrors  had  at  least  this  merit  that  it 
gave  to  a  real  teacher  the  opportunity  to  bring  out  of 
the  better  student  some  kind  of  intellectual  reaction. 
Its  fatal  defect  was  that  it  tended  to  sacrifice  every- 
thing to  the  mechanical  reproduction  of  a  given  task. 
It  is  gone  for  good,  and  no  teacher  who  is  also  a  scholar 
can  regret  it.  The  highest  discipline  will  not  suffer  if 
we  can  keep  the  idea  of  repetition  on  the  level  of  our 
best  instruction  freed  from  all  penitential  suggestion. 

As   to  those  examinations  upon  which   academic 
standing,  in  any  sense  of  the  word,  is  to  be  based:  ac- 


COLLEGE  DISCIPLINE  123 

cording  to  what  truly  disciplinary  principle  can  they  be 
regulated?  The  answer  has  already  been  suggested. 
They  must  be  so  planned  as  to  direct  the  student's  at- 
tention steadily  toward  real  and  remote  ends,  not  to- 
ward fictitious  and  immediate  ones.  To  accomplish 
this  purpose  they  should  be  few  in  number;  they  should 
represent  the  completion  of  considerable  pieces  of  work 
and  they  should  involve  the  element  of  power  as  well  as 
that  of  learned  acquisition.  Further,  they  should  be 
conducted  partly  by  those  teachers  who  have  been 
preparing  the  candidates  and  partly  by  other  ex- 
aminers. This  mixed  body  should  prepare  questions, 
examine  and  estimate  the  answers  and  conduct  oral 
examinations  when  these  are  to  be  used. 

There  is,  of  course,  room  for  wide  differences  both  of 
opinion  and  of  practice.  What  constitutes  a  suitable 
basis  for  examination  ?  What  is  a  considerable  piece  of 
work?  How  shall  the  shares  of  the  immediate  teachers 
and  the  other  experts  be  distributed?  I  venture  to 
make  these  definite  suggestions:  First,  that  for  all 
purposes  of  academic  record  the  examining  body  in 
any  subject  should  be  the  department  which  has  that 
subject  in  charge.  The  teacher  in  any  branch  of  the 
subject  is,  of  course,  a  member  of  the  department  and 
would  have  weight  in  its  councils  in  proportion  to  his 
special  knowledge  in  his  branch.  His  idiosyncrasies 
would  be  balanced  by  the  larger  view  of  his  colleagues, 
and  thus  the  relation  of  his  branch  to  the  whole  subject 
would  be  made  more  effective.  Second,  the  unit  of  ex- 
amination should  be  a  subject  or  a  branch  of  a  subject. 
It  should  not  be  the  "course"  of  any  teacher  or  the 


124  LEARNING  AND  LIVING 

text-book  of  any  author,  or  the  work  of  any  fixed  period 
of  residence.  The  purpose  of  this  suggestion  is,  that  the 
mind  of  the  student  may  be  kept  continually  on  the 
realities  of  his  work.  He  should  be  made  to  feel  from 
the  beginning  that  he  is  a  fellow-worker,  though  a 
humble  one,  in  a  great  field,  where  he  has  many  com- 
panions. He  should  be  reminded  in  every  useful  way, 
that  the  particular  "course"  he  may  be  following  at 
the  moment  is  not  a  natural  unit,  but  only  one  man's 
contribution  to  a  larger  whole. 

Third,  the  examinations  in  each  subject  should  be 
treated  as  one  system  with  stages  graded  according  to 
extent  and  difficulty.  Requirement  for  a  degree  —  as- 
suming that  degrees  are  still  to  be  retained  —  could  be 
expressed  in  terms  of  so  many  stages  of  examinations 
passed  in  so  many  subjects.  A  suitable  balance  be- 
tween specialization  and  "general  culture"  could  be 
secured  by  regulating  the  proportion  of  higher  exam- 
inations to  lower  and  the  amounts  of  time  given  to 
special  and  to  general  instruction.  A  higher  degree  of 
specialization  would  be  gained  by  demanding  a  greater 
amount  of  examination  in  the  upper  grades;  a  wider 
range  of  general  excellence  would  be  attained  by  re- 
quiring more  examination  in  the  lower  grades.  For 
example:  supposing  a  scheme  of  four  examination 
stages,  a  conceivable  requirement  for  the  bachelor's 
degree  might  be,  that  the  candidate  should  pass  the 
fourth  stage  in  one  subject,  the  second  in  this  and  three 
others  and  the  first  in  these  and  four  others.  That 
would  mean  in  all  fourteen  examinations  in  eight  sub- 
jects and  covering,  say,  four  years.  The  candidate 


COLLEGE  DISCIPLINE  125 

would  in  this  case  have  passed  eight  first  examinations, 
four  seconds,  one  third,  and  one  fourth;  that  is,  he 
would  have  studied  while  in  college  eight  different  sub- 
jects, would  have  carried  three  of  these  into  a  second 
stage  of  advancement  and  one  into  a  fourth.  A  slight 
variation  could  be  made  by  dropping  one  first  and 
adding  one  third.  A  higher  degree  of  specialization 
would  be  gained  by  reducing  the  number  of  firsts  and 
carrying,  say  two  subjects  through  the  fourth  stage. 
Under  this  plan  a  great  variety  of  combinations  would 
be  possible  while  still  preserving  the  desired  balance 
between  specialization  and  wide  election.  It  would 
avoid  many  of  the  crudities  which  result  from  unre- 
stricted choice  among  individual  courses  given  by  men 
who  are  not  only  teaching  any  fragment  of  learning  in 
any  way  they  please,  but,  through  their  sole  control  of 
examinations,  limit  in  many  subtle  ways  the  very 
freedom  of  choice  they  seem  to  represent. 

Such  a  plan  is  not  an  imitation  of  any  European 
model.  It  avoids  the  danger  of  a  system  of  cramming 
towards  a  set  of  examinations  in  which  the  teacher  has 
no  share.  It  would  stimulate  the  teacher  to  do  his  best 
because  it  brings  his  instruction  to  the  test  of  publicity 
of  a  kind  for  which  he  has  the  greatest  respect,  pub- 
licity before  his  equals  and  his  superiors.  Without 
some  such  departmental  cooperation  the  teacher  goes 
on  year  in  and  year  out  examining,  as  it  were,  his  own 
work  and  never  brought  under  the  wholesome  criticism 
of  those  best  qualified  to  judge  it.  At  the  same  time  the 
plan  avoids  the  danger  of  petty  and  fragmentary  in- 
struction, since  all  teaching  would  be  coordinated  and 


126  LEARNING  AND  LIVING 

directed  toward  some  reasonably  remote  end.  Experi- 
ments already  made  in  substituting  a  system  of  grant- 
ing degrees  upon  examination  rather  than  upon  any 
"accumulation  of  credits  "  give  encouraging  promise  of 
still  greater  success  when  our  academic  communities 
shall  once  have  worked  themselves  free  of  their  ob- 
solete paternalistic  traditions. 

The  separation  between  the  educational  and  the 
bookkeeping  functions  of  the  college  affects  our  gen- 
eral subject  of  academic  discipline  chiefly  at  two  points, 
first,  in  its  effect  upon  the  relation  of  the  student  to  his 
teachers  and  second,  as  it  influences  his  choice  of 
studies.  As  to  the  former,  there  is  no  more  striking  re- 
sult of  the  system  of  freedom,  so  far  as  it  has  been  hon- 
orably applied,  than  the  change  which  has  come  over 
the  whole  attitude  of  the  student  toward  his  teachers. 
In  proportion  as  they  have  ceased  to  be  taskmasters 
and  have  become  more  really  interpreters  between  him 
and  the  various  subjects  of  learning  he  has  come  to 
think  of  them  as  older  fellow-workers  with  himself.  In 
many  ways  his  attitude  has  become  more  intelligently 
critical,  and  this  greatly  to  the  profit  of  his  instruction. 
He  has  learned  something  of  the  great  art  of  discrim- 
inating between  what  is  valuable  and  what  is  not.  He 
shows  a  certain  impatience  with  the  merely  conven- 
tional and  becomes  somewhat  too  clever  in  dodging 
when  he  expects  a  period  of  "padding"  or  common- 
place. His  personal  curiosity  is  aroused.  He  develops 
an  instinct  at  asking  inconvenient  questions.  He  lets 
the  teacher  know  by  many  unmistakable  signs  when  he 
finds  him  dull  or  obscure.  He  ventures  to  set  up  opin- 


COLLEGE  DISCIPLINE  127 

ions  of  his  own,  sound  or  otherwise,  and  to  defend 
them  in  personal  encounter. 

All  this  has  reacted  most  powerfully  and  most  profit- 
ably upon  the  teacher.  Even  men  who  on  principle 
opposed  every  stage  of  advance  in  the  method  of  free- 
dom have  found  their  academic  careers  infinitely 
brightened  and  sweetened  by  this  changed  attitude  of 
their  pupils.  Instead  of  dealing  with  an  unsifted  mass 
of  half  unwilling  youth  they  have  gained  the  right  to 
assume  that  every  man  before  them  is  there  because  he 
has  deliberately  chosen  to  be  there.  They  may,  there- 
fore, appeal  to  the  best  in  him  and  confidently  expect  a 
response.  This  is  the  great  gain  of  the  past  generation 
in  education,  that  we  have  won  this  right  to  treat  our 
students  as  fellow-workers  by  giving  them  in  return  the 
right  to  come  to  their  work  as  a  privilege.  We  have 
made  an  immense  advance  in  the  spirit  of  instruction 
by  putting  the  realities  of  science  in  place  of  formal  de- 
mands for  the  performance  of  specific  tasks. 

But,  if  we  are  to  realize  due  results  from  our  system 
of  freedom  we  must  keep  this  open  and  frank  relation 
of  the  student  and  his  teacher  free  from  every  admix- 
ture of  baser  stuff.  It  is  idle  to  offer  confidence  and 
sympathy  with  one  hand  while  with  the  other  we  are 
scoring  up  an  account  on  which  the  academic  destiny 
of  our  younger  colleague  may  depend.  We  may  affect 
as  much  indifference  as  we  please  about  the  book- 
keeping; he  will  not  forget  it.  If  he  finds  himself  really 
getting  into  friendly  relations  with  us  he  will  be  afraid 
of  seeming  to  be  "swiping"  us  for  some  material  gain. 
If  he  shows  too  much  interest  in  our  subject,  he  is 


128  LEARNING  AND  LIVING 

afraid  of  boring  us  and  so  of  injuring  himself.  He  is 
constantly  tempted  to  study  our  idiosyncrasies  to  find 
out  "what  we  want,"  to  calculate  his  chances  of  suc- 
cess by  what  he  imagines  are  our  peculiar  standards. 
In  short,  the  personality  of  the  teacher,  the  most  im- 
portant incident  in  all  formal  education,  is  set  in  a 
totally  false  light,  is  perverted  from  its  true  influence 
and,  instead  of  aiding  our  system  of  freedom  as  it 
ought,  is  in  danger  of  becoming  a  positive  check  upon 
it. 

There  can  be  no  more  damning  comment  upon  a 
system  of  so-called  academic  freedom  than  the  phrases 
one  hears  so  often:  "My  degree  depends  upon  my 
mark  in  Professor  X's  course,"  or,  "If  Professor  Y 
gives  me  an  "A"  I  shall  get  this  or  that  honor."  Pro- 
fessorial human  nature  is  not  equal  to  such  a  strain  and 
ought  not  to  be  subjected  to  it.  There  is  no  remedy  but 
to  sever  as  completely  as  possible  all  connection  be- 
tween the  teaching  and  the  bookkeeping  functions  of 
the  university  college.  If  we  must  have  degrees,  hon- 
ors, promotions  and  all  the  rest  of  it  —  and  there  are 
many  who  would  be  glad  to  get  rid  of  them  altogether 
—  they  must  be  assigned  by  some  process  which  will 
leave  our  teachers  free  to  enter  into  any  effective  rela- 
tion with  their  pupils  without  fear  on  the  one  side  or 
favor  on  the  other. 

To  sum  up  our  suggestions  as  to  the  best  way  to 
maintain  that  idea  of  discipline  for  which  the  univer- 
sity college  offers  a  specially  inviting  opportunity: 
Give  the  student  a  free  choice  of  studies  modified  only 
by  what  we  may  fairly  call  natural  limitations.  Put  no 


COLLEGE  DISCIPLINE  129 

artificial  barriers  in  his  way.  Keep  before  him  real, 
scholarly  aims.  Hold  him  to  fair,  rigid  and  not  too 
frequent  tests  of  his  acquirement  and  his  working 
power.  Let  him  learn  the  lesson  of  failure  by  finding 
that  it  hurts  promptly,  and  he  may  safely  be  trusted  to 
respond  heartily  to  our  reasonable  expectations.  It  is 
upon  this  faith  in  the  essential  right-mindedness  of  our 
selected  youth  that  every  attempt  to  use  freedom  as  a 
means  of  discipline  must  ultimately  rest. 


GENTLEMAN  AND  SCHOLAR1 

THERE  died  not  long  ago  in  an  academic  com- 
munity a  man  of  whom  men  said,  with  singular 
unanimity,  "He  was  a  gentleman  and  a  scholar,  and  he 
was  the  last  of  his  kind."  We  are  prone  to  call  certain 
figures  the  last  of  their  kind.  Cato  was  "  the  last  of  the 
Romans,"  Maximilian  I,  Bayard,  Sidney,  and  I  know 
not  how  many  others,  were  each  "the  last  of  the 
knights,"  and  so  on.  What  we  mean  by  the  phrase  is 
that  when  a  certain  type  of  man  has  become  well  fixed 
and  has  done  its  special  service  in  the  world,  there 
comes  a  time  when  it  inevitably  gives  way  to  some  new 
type.  In  the  period  of  transition,  while  the  two  are  in 
conflict,  it  is  as  if  the  older  type  became  intensified  in 
the  persons  of  those  who  have  to  maintain  it  against 
the  assaults  of  new  and  strange  ideals.  Instinctively 
they  gather  themselves  together  for  the  shock.  They 
seem  to  feel  the  foundations  of  all  true  things  slipping 
away,  and  they  brace  themselves  to  resist  with  all  the 
tenacity  of  a  faith  founded  upon  generations  of  ex- 
perience. They  become  therefore  to  the  men  of  a  new 
day  even  more  strongly  marked  specimens  of  their 
type  than  those  earlier  men  who  really  founded  it,  but 
who  were  not  forced  by  opposition  into  quite  so  clear  a 
consciousness  of  their  own  quality. 

The  man  whom  we  carried  to  his  grave  was  em- 
inently formed  by  such  a  process  of  transition.  He 
stood  for  a  conception  of  scholarship  which  had  dom- 

1  Reprinted  from  The  Atlantic  Monthly,  June,  1900. 


131 


i32  LEARNING  AND  LIVING 

inated  the  world  for  many  generations.  In  naming 
him  thus  instinctively  "gentleman  and  scholar"  and 
saying  that  he  was  the  "  last  of  his  kind  "  we  did  not 
mean  that  scholars  had  ceased  or  were  likely  to  cease 
to  be  gentlemen;  nor  did  we  mean  that  gentlemen 
would  no  longer  turn  to  the  profession  of  the  scholar. 
The  phrase  was  meant  to  convey  rather  the  idea  of  a 
certain  necessary  and  inevitable  connection  of  the  two 
things  —  scholarship  and  gentle  living.  This  man  had 
not  begun  life  as  a  "gentleman,"  and  then  sought  schol- 
arship as  an  adornment,  a  kind  of  decoration  suited  to 
his  class.  Nor  had  he,  because  he  was  a  scholar,  come 
to  put  on  the  outward  seeming  of  a  gentleman  as  being 
the  appropriate  livery  of  his  profession.  Both  these 
devices  are  familiar  to  the  observer  of  academic  types. 
We  know  the  man  of  refined  tastes  and  easy  fortune 
who  comes  into  the  scholar's  life  from  above  —  choos- 
ing it  rather  than  chosen  by  it,  and  expecting  to  gather 
its  rewards  without  going  through  its  sacrifices  of 
drudgery  and  obscurity.  We  know  also  the  man  of 
parts,  capable  of  hard  work  and  gifted  with  all  the 
technical  qualities  of  the  scholar,  who  is  driven  into 
the  formal  relations  of  cultivated  intercourse  without 
ever  really  grasping  its  spirit  or  sharing  its  refining 
influence. 

The  man  whose  memory  we  are  recalling  would 
never  have  suggested  even  the  inquiry  whether  he  was 
gentleman  first  and  scholar  afterward  or  the  reverse. 
One  felt  that  the  very  distinctive  quality  in  his  type 
was  the  inseparable  interfusion  of  the  two.  His  out- 
ward man  gave  instant  assurance  not  merely  of  the 


GENTLEMAN  AND  SCHOLAR         133 

gentleman,  but  of  the  refining  touch  which  a  true  spirit 
of  scholarship  ought  to  add.  His  dress,  his  gait,  his 
bearing  all  combined  to  give  the  impression  of  careful 
dignity  which  yet  had  no  suggestion  of  effort.  He  wore 
no  uniform  of  a  class,  but  was  equally  far  from  follow- 
ing the  caprices  of  fashion.  His  linen  was  scrupulously 
neat,  but  it  would  have  been  hard  to  name  its  precise 
brand.  His  clothes  were  always  of  sober  black,  neither 
of  antique  nor  of  the  latest  fashion.  His  high  hat,  of  no 
particular  mould,  was  always  carefully  brushed,  and 
his  ivory-headed  cane  suited  his  measured  but  busi- 
nesslike step.  His  manner  was  cordial,  but  not  effu- 
sive; his  greeting  always  expressing  a  hint  of  surprise, 
as  if  he  had  been  suddenly  called  out  of  his  own  world 
of  thought,  but  was  glad  to  meet  the  human  being  who 
had  called  him. 

Modest  as  some  women,  he  was  firm  in  his  opinions, 
and  knew  how  to  express  them  in  language  that  was 
always  forcible  and  often  seemed  to  him  on  reflection 
to  have  been  violent.  Then,  with  what  eager  haste  he 
would  try  to  repair  the  wrong  of  which  no  one  could 
ever  have  suspected  him  —  to  take  away  the  sting  no 
one  but  himself  ever  felt.  "Old-fashioned"  he  un- 
doubtedly was,  in  the  fair  sense  that  most  good  fash- 
ions maintain  themselves  to  a  ripe  old  age,  but  one 
never  quite  thought  of  him  as  a  piece  of  the  antique 
world,  so  fresh  and  vital  was  his  interest  in  all  that  was 
best  and  finest  in  the  new  world  around  him.  As  to  his 
whole  outward  bearing  among  men  there  could  be  but 
one  natural  expression  for  it  —  the  grand  simple  name 
of  gentleman. 


I34  LEARNING  AND  LIVING 

So  was  it  also  with  his  scholarship.  It  sat  upon  him 
lightly,  as  something  into  which  he  had  grown  by  a 
natural  evolution.  How  he  had  got  it  no  one  ever 
thought  of  inquiring.  In  what  schools  he  had  been 
taught,  what  academic  degrees  he  had  gained,  to  what 
faction  of  scholars  he  belonged  —  these  were  all  indif- 
ferent things.  Even  the  question,  now  so  often  asked, 
and  not  always  quite  relevant:  "What  has  he  done?" 
was  never  asked  of  him.  What  he  had  "done"  was 
of  no  importance  compared  with  what  he  was.  He  had 
never  written  a  book.  He  could  only  with  difficulty  be 
persuaded  to  do  now  and  then  some  little  editorial 
work.  His  ideal  of  what  books  ought  to  be  was  so  high 
that  his  modesty  shrank  from  the  risk  of  adding  to  the 
stock  of  the  world's  mediocrity.  There  was  so  much 
always  to  be  learned,  and,  as  he  came  to  know  more 
and  more,  his  own  attainment  seemed  ever  so  much 
the  more  inadequate,  that  he  simply  and  naturally 
went  on  always  making  himself  a  fuller  man,  and  pour- 
ing out  his  surplus  upon  the  unresponsive  youth  in  the 
intimate  circle  of  the  class-room  and  the  study. 

It  would  have  been  impossible  for  him  to  describe  his 
method  in  learning  or  in  teaching.  It  probably  never 
occurred  to  him  that  he  had  any  method.  What  he  did 
was  to  keep  himself  always  busy  reading,  and  ordering 
what  he  read  in  such  fashion  as  would  best  serve  him  in 
giving  it  out  again  to  untrained  minds.  That  was  all 
there  was  of  it,  and  if  he  had  been  asked  how  he  did  it, 
he  would  have  flashed  upon  his  inquirer  with  some  bit 
of  epigram  that  would  have  been  worth  a  volume  of 
pedagogic  lore.  Only  now  and  again,  in  the  fierce  aca- 


GENTLEMAN  AND  SCHOLAR          135 

demic  battles  of  his  later  years,  as  the  new  ideals  of 
scholarship  began  to  shape  themselves  in  discussion,  he 
would  speak  with  no  uncertain  voice  in  defense  of 
principles  which  were  only  clearly  revealed  to  him 
when  others  began  to  crowd  them  from  their  place. 
He  died  with  his  harness  on,  vigorous  and  beautiful 
to  the  last,  reverenced  by  those  who  fancied  themselves 
the  prophets  of  better  ideals,  as  embodying,  after  all,  a 
something  they  could  hardly  ever  hope  to  reach. 

One  thing  there  could  be  no  doubt  of:  the  ideal  he  so 
clearly  set  forth  has  pretty  well  passed  from  our  sight. 
Again  let  me  say  that  this  does  not  mean  an  inevitable 
and  general  divorce  between  scholarship  and  gentle 
living.  It  does  not  rest  upon  any  single  or  narrow  def- 
inition either  of  the  gentleman  or  the  scholar.  It  means 
that  the  two  are  no  longer  thought  of  as  necessarily 
combined  or  as  forming  two  essential  parts  of  a  single 
complete  and  beautiful  whole.  The  standards  of 
scholarship  are  in  many  ways  more  exacting  than  in  the 
generation  now  closed.  The  standard  of  the  gentleman 
is  a  thing  so  elusive,  so  dependent  upon  the  unreason- 
ing sentiment  of  a  day  or  of  a  nation,  that  one  would 
hardly  venture  to  formulate  it;  but  it  would  be  rash  to 
say  that  it  is  lowered  in  any  essential  degree.  The 
change  has  come,  not  in  a  lowering  of  these  two  ideals, 
but  in  a  separation  of  them.  The  gentleman  may  or 
may  not  be  a  scholar;  the  scholar  may  or  may  not  be 
a  gentleman. 

With  the  phrase  "gentleman  and  scholar"  have  been 
disappearing  at  about  equal  pace  certain  others  of 
similar  suggestion  —  "the  education  of  a  gentleman," 


136  LEARNING  AND  LIVING 

"  a  liberal  education,"  "  an  educated  man."  One  hardly 
dares  use  these  phrases  to-day,  so  sure  is  one  to  be 
called  upon  with  a  certain  accent  of  contempt  to  define 
them  in  terms  that  will  be  acceptable  to  all  hearers. 
Until  our  generation  we  thought  we  knew  what  an 
educated  man,  in  the  ordinary  use  of  language,  was. 
He  was  a  man  who  knew,  or  had  known,  certain  things, 
and  it  was  assumed  that  in  the  process  of  acquiring 
these  things  his  mind  had  gained  a  certain  kind  of 
power  and  an  openness  to  certain  orders  of  ideas  which 
made  this  man,  in  distinction  from  others  not  so  dis- 
ciplined, a  man  of  education.  By  virtue  of  this  aca- 
demic discipline  —  assuming,  of  course,  that  he  had 
done  his  part  in  the  process  —  he  entered  into  a  fellow- 
ship of  unspeakable  value  to  himself.  He  became  one 
in  an  order  of  men  who  had  enjoyed  a  great  and  pre- 
cious privilege,  and  were  therefore  bound  to  justify 
themselves  by  doing  so  much  the  better  whatever  work 
they  might  have  to  do  in  the  world.  Nothing  was  more 
common  than  to  hear  it  said  of  a  man,  "He  is  an  ad- 
mirable lawyer,  or  doctor,  or  engineer,  or  architect, 
but  he  is  not  an  educated  man."  He  might  have  been 
trained  in  the  school  of  life  infinitely  more  effectively 
than  he  could  have  been  in  any  college,  but  it  was  felt, 
and  by  no  one  probably  more  keenly  than  himself,  that 
a  certain  kind  of  capacity  and  certain  orders  of  ideas 
were  lost  to  him  forever  by  reason  of  that  lack.  This 
thing  lacking,  such  as  it  was,  he  and  others  agreed  to 
call  "an  education." 

If  we  try  to  analyze  this  somewhat  vague  conception, 
we  find  that  the  essential  quality  of  this  earlier  educa- 


GENTLEMAN  AND  SCHOLAR          137 

tion  was  that  it  was  in  no  sense  professional.  That  is 
what  men  tried  to  express  by  the  word  "liberal,"  a 
word  one  hesitates  now  to  use,  because  one  fears  to  be 
understood  as  thereby  describing  all  other  education 
as  "illiberal."  No  such  opposition  was  ever  intended, 
nor  was  it  felt  by  the  generations  which  came  and  went 
under  those  conditions.  They  rejoiced  in  the  privilege 
of  spending  a  certain  period  of  youth  in  studies  and  in 
a  mental  attitude  which  had  in  view  no  direct  practical 
use  of  what  they  were  acquiring;  in  other  words,  no 
professional  or  technical  aim.  At  the  conclusion  of  that 
period  they  were  not,  and  knew  they  were  not,  fitted  to 
carry  on  any  given  work  of  life.  They  did  believe,  how- 
ever, that  they  had  made  the  best  preparation  for 
living,  no  matter  what  specific  line  of  work  they  might 
follow.  If,  at  that  moment,  they  were  to  enter  the 
world  of  scholarship,  they  were  without  technical 
training  in  any  field.  That  was  all  to  come,  and  they 
were  as  ready  to  begin  the  necessary  professional  dis- 
cipline in  their  way  as  were  the  lawyer,  the  physician, 
and  the  engineer  in  thers. 

What  they  had  had  was  a  chance  to  fix  solidly  in 
their  mental  character  the  largeness  and  the  beauty  of 
the  intellectual  life.  They  had  had  time  to  think  and 
to  ripen  without  concern  as  to  just  whither  their  think- 
ing and  their  unconscious  development  were  leading 
them.  No  matter  into  what  direction  they  might  now 
turn  their  activity,  they  were  bound  to  carry  with 
them  that  essential  thing  which,  for  lack  of  a  better 
name,  we  agreed  to  call  the  liberal  spirit.  If  they  had 
made  a  proper  use  of  their  chance  they  could  never  be 


138  LEARNING  AND  LIVING 

mere  specialists  in  their  field.  Their  special  and  tech- 
nical skill  must  always  be  infused  with  that  higher  and 
larger  spirit  of  culture  to  which  the  professional  spirit 
is  always  and  necessarily,  more  or  less  antagonistic. 
Expressed  in  terms  of  the  inner  life,  such  a  scholar  was, 
and  was  felt  to  be,  a  gentleman.  No  one  cared  what  his 
origin  might  be.  There  was  no  fixed  type  to  which  he 
was  forced  to  correspond.  There  might  be  endless 
diversity  in  his  outward  expression  of  himself;  only, 
through  all  diversity  and  with  every  allowance  made 
for  original  advantage  or  disadvantage,  there  was  the 
inevitable  stamp  of  the  gentleman  and  the  scholar. 

Unquestionably  the  origin  of  this  typical  man  is  to  be 
found  in  the  traditions  of  English  scholarship.  It  is 
only  a  few  months  since  an  English  scholar  said  to  the 
writer  in  all  seriousness:  "Education  in  England  is  in- 
tended for  the  sons  of  gentlemen,  and  if  by  chance  any 
one  else  gets  possession  of  it,  he  is  sure  to  find  himself 
bitterly  reminded  that  he  has  gone  out  of  his  class." 
He  was  using  the  word  "gentleman"  in  its  narrowest 
sense,  and  his  statement,  if  it  were  true,  as  I  do  not  be- 
lieve it  is,  would  be  an  indictment  against  English  edu- 
cation more  fatal  than  any  that  could  be  pronounced. 
It  serves,  however,  to  show  that  there  still  survives, 
though  here  expressed  in  a  degrading  and  perverted 
form,  the  idea  of  an  essential  connection  between  the 
notions  of  gentle  breeding  and  intellectual  culture. 
Its  expression  by  my  English  friend  was  perverted, 
because  it  assumed  the  man  of  gentle  birth  who  let 
himself  be  educated  as  a  necessary  decoration  of 
his  class. 


GENTLEMAN  AND  SCHOLAR         139 

But  behind  this  perversion  there  lies  the  long  history 
of  an  association  of  the  two  ideas  from  which  we  in 
American  have  derived  our  now  rapidly  fading  tradi- 
tion. English  scholarship  has,  as  a  matter  of  fact,  not 
only  been  largely  in  the  hands  of  gentlemen,  tech- 
nically so  called,  but  when  men  outside  that  mysterious 
circle  have  become  scholars,  they  in  their  turn  have 
cultivated  the  ideal  of  a  necessary  and  vital  union  be- 
tween life  and  learning.  In  other  words,  English 
scholarship  has  never  been  in  any  strict  sense  profes- 
sional. Naturally,  as  we  in  America  were  forming  our 
educational  ideals,  we  followed  largely  in  the  same 
direction.  To  be  sure  we  rejected,  long  since,  the  nar- 
row use  of  the  word  "gentleman"  which  still  widely 
prevails  in  England;  but  we  clung  fondly  to  the  notion 
of  the  gentle  life  as  a  life  not  primarily  devoted  to  a 
practical  calling,  and  we  still  thought  of  it  as  asso- 
ciated almost  necessarily  with  intellectual  culture. 

Within  a  generation,  however,  this  tradition  has 
been  interrupted,  and  again,  without  drawing  na- 
tional lines  too  sharply,  we  may  fairly  say  that  the  new 
conception  of  scholarship  is  German  in  its  origin.  Ger- 
man life  has  long  been  marked  above  all  else  by  the 
quality  of  professionalism.  The  typical  German  is  not 
a  man  of  culture;  he  is  a  man  of  training.  Above  all 
things  else  the  German  loves  a  system,  and  will  have  it 
at  any  cost.  So  far  as  German  scholarship  has  affected 
the  world,  it  has  done  so  less  by  the  intrinsic  value  of 
its  contribution  than  by  the  help  it  has  given  to  other 
peoples  in  the  systematic  ordering  of  their  study  and 
thought. 


i4o  LEARNING  AND  LIVING 

A  generation  ago  German  scholarship  was  prac- 
tically without  direct  influence  upon  American  meth- 
ods. Here  and  there  an  isolated  scholar  or  writer, 
himself  perhaps  an  importation,  was  calling  attention 
to  a  new  something  which  Germany  had  to  offer  to  the 
world  of  scholarship.  The  discovery  of  German  sys- 
tem coincided  with  the  vast  widening  of  the  intellectual 
field  produced  by  our  new  interest  in  natural  science  — 
an  interest,  by  the  way,  which  did  not  in  any  sense 
originate  in  Germany.  "Science,"  "the  scientific 
method,"  "truth  by  induction,"  have  been  the  cry  of 
the  generation  now  coming  to  its  close.  To  meet  this 
new  demand,  education  has  had  to  modify  its  ideals. 
It  has  had  to  emphasize  "training"  instead  of  "cul- 
ture" as  its  main  purpose.  It  has  come  to  aim  at  mak- 
ing a  man  fit  for  something  in  particular,  rather  than 
for  anything  he  might  afterward  decide  upon. 

Education  has  felt  powerfully  the  reaction  of  the  im- 
mense material  advance  of  this  past  generation.  Not 
only  have  the  subjects  of  education  been  greatly  in- 
creased in  number,  and  that  chiefly  in  the  direction  of 
material  and  technical  branches,  but  the  mechanism  of 
all  education  has  been  developed  to  an  almost  alarm- 
ing extent.  We  have  been  learning  from  the  Germans 
something  of  their  own  Systcmsuchty  and  we  have 
shown  signs  of  our  usual  determination  to  better  our 
instruction.  There  is  not  an  educational  nostrum  from 
the  elaborate  fooleries  of  the  kindergarten  up  to  the 
highly  sublimated  pedagogical  psychology  of  the  "grad- 
uate schools"  that  we  have  not  been  willing  to  try. 

It  has  been  a  period  of  great  activity,  and,  mis- 


GENTLEMAN  AND  SCHOLAR          141 

directed  as  much  of  this  activity  has  been,  there  can 
be  no  absolute  waste  of  serious  and  conscientious 
effort.  Great  good  things  have  come  to  pass  and 
greater  are  to  come.  Only  let  us  ask  ourselves,  just 
now,  at  the  close  of  one  generation  of  energy,  what 
shape  our  ideals  have  come  to  take,  and  whether  we 
may  well  modify  them  in  any  particular.  The  merest 
glance  at  the  program  of  our  schools  and  colleges 
shows  the  enormous  advance  in  all  the  mechanism  of 
education,  and  in  the  term  mechanism  I  would  include 
not  merely  the  material  equipment,  but  all  that  great 
chapter  of  our  subject  which  in  the  books  comes  under 
the  head  of  "organization"  —  grouping  of  topics  in 
departments,  gradation  of  instruction,  quality  of  text- 
books —  opportunities  of  every  sort  for  getting  the 
most  out  of  the  great  educational  "plant." 

The  only  serious  question  before  us  at  this  moment 
is  whether  our  machinery  is  not  too  dangerously  com- 
plete. When  we  had  less  machinery  we  were  com- 
pelled to  rely  more  upon  personal  quality.  A  perfect 
machine  does  its  work  almost  without  human  aid;  set  it 
going,  supply  it  with  raw  material,  and  it  turns  out  the 
finished  product  with  inevitable  success.  More  than 
this,  the  highly  developed  machine  is  able  by  its  very 
perfection  to  give  to  comparatively  poor  material  an 
apparent  finish,  which  may  deceive  the  unwary.  The 
very  uniformity  of  the  machine  product  conceals  many 
a  defect  and  irregularity.  On  the  other  hand,  a  com- 
paratively poor  tool  working  on  good  material  may,  in 
the  right  hands,  give  the  best  results.  One  theory  of 
manual  training  has  been  that  pupils  ought  to  be  re- 


i42  LEARNING  AND  LIVING 

quired  to  work  first  with  dull  and  ill-contrived  tools, 
lest  they  learn  to  depend  too  much  on  the  tool,  and 
too  little  on  their  own  skill  and  talent. 

There  is  precisely  the  question  as  to  our  new  educa- 
tional methods.  Not  really,  of  course,  whether  we 
have  made  our  machinery  too  good.  No  one  could  ad- 
vise going  back  one  step  along  the  road  we  have  already 
traversed  in  that  direction.  Let  us  go  on  even,  gaining 
always  better  apparatus,  better  organization,  better 
comprehension  of  detail;  but  while  we  do  this  let  us  not 
forget  that  our  ultimate  salvation  is  never  to  be  found 
in  these  things.  While  we  present  to  ambitious  youth 
the  pathways  of  scholarship,  and  hang  out  all  the 
lights  we  can  to  guide  him,  we  must  guard  him  care- 
fully from  the  delusion  that  he  has  only  to  march 
through  these  pathways  in  order  to  attain  the  desired 
goal.  We  may  prescribe  conditions  and  defend  them 
by  every  practicable  test;  but  all  conditions  must  be 
graded  to  a  certain  level  of  capacity,  and  all  tests  must 
be  held  within  certain  limits  of  human  fairness.  The 
more  precisely  conditions  are  defined,  and  the  more 
formally  accurate  the  tests  applied,  the  more  we  appeal 
to  an  average  grade  of  capacity. 

Our  machinery  will  enable  us  to  turn  out  men 
trained  to  certain  definable  forms  of  activity,  men  who 
can  be  ticketed  off  in  groups  and  applied  in  various 
kinds  of  work  in  the  world.  It  will  never  give  us  any 
guaranty  that  these  are  men  of  real  intellectual  power, 
whose  personal  quality  can  of  itself  command  respect. 
Underneath  all  the  machine  work  there  must  lie  the 
same  quality  upon  which  the  scholar  of  the  earlier 


GENTLEMAN  AND  SCHOLAR          143 

generation  exclusively  relied.  He  had  no  training  by 
any  organization  whatever.  If  he  were  trained  at  all, 
he  trained  himself.  He  came  to  be  what  he  was  by 
virtue  of  the  inner  impulse  which  alone,  maintained 
through  years  of  action  and  intensified  by  time,  can 
guarantee  the  quality  of  a  man. 

Obviously  this  quality  is  difficult  to  describe.  It 
cannot  be  measured  in  terms  of  academic  honors. 
Erasmus  of  Rotterdam,  explaining  why  he  felt  obliged 
to  take  a  doctor's  degree  in  Italy,  says:  "Formerly  a 
man  was  called  '  doctor  '  because  he  was  a  learned 
man;  but  nowadays  no  one  will  believe  a  man  is  learned 
unless  he  is  called  '  doctor.'  "  A  college  president  seek- 
ing a  professor  not  long  since  made  it  a  sine  qua  non 
that  the  candidate  should  be  a  doctor  of  philosophy. 
Another  man  might  know  more,  be  more  highly  quali- 
fied as  a  man,  and  a  more  effective  teacher,  but  he  must 
give  way  to  the  man,  very  possibly  of  less  value,  who 
had  the  trade-mark  of  his  profession.  I  have  known 
many  a  man,  whose  great  fundamental  need  was  in- 
tellectual refinement  and  culture,  sacrificed  to  this 
semi-civilized  demand  for  a  certifiable  kind  of  expert 
training. 

So  we  come  round  again  to  the  point  from  which  we 
started,  and  the  ideal  of  the  past  is  seen  to  be  also  the 
truest  ideal  of  the  present.  "Gentleman  and  scholar" 
remains  the  best  expression  of  the  product  by  which 
the  new  education  must  justify  itself  before  the  world. 
The  mechanical  appliances  are  pretty  well  completed. 
It  remains  for  us  to  use  them  and  not  to  let  them  use 
us.  The  American  scholar  of  the  future  is  undoubtedly 


144  LEARNING  AND  LIVING 

to  be  a  trained  man  in  a  sense  quite  different  from  that 
in  which  the  older  scholar  could  be  said  to  be  trained. 
Is  he  to  be  nothing  else?  The  question  is  not  an  idle 
one.  It  is  coming  to  us  from  many  sides,  not  by  any 
means  solely  from  the  laudatores  temporis  acti,  who 
might  be  expected  to  cling  fondly  to  traditions.  It 
comes  already  from  institutions  which  have  made  trial 
of  men  "trained"  upon  no  foundation  of  scholarly 
character,  and  found  them  wanting.  It  comes  from 
young  men  who  have  found  their  own  best  develop- 
ment checked  and  hampered  by  the  mechanical  proc- 
esses of  the  academic  mill.  And  it  is  coming  also  in 
vague  and  indistinct  forms  from  that  great  helpless 
thing,  the  public,  which  misses,  to  its  pain,  the  sacred 
something  it  was  wont  to  associate  with  the  name  of 
the  scholar. 

The  answer  is  to  be  found  in  a  return  to  the  concep- 
tion of  a  necessary  and  essential  union  between  learn- 
ing and  the  higher  life  of  the  spirit.  This  conception 
must  be  made  to  enter  vitally  into  every  grade  of  our 
education  from  lowest  to  highest.  It  must  not  be  set  in 
opposition  to  the  other  conception  of  learning  as  es- 
sentially applicable  to  some  human  purpose.  It  must 
be  united  with  it,  so  that  our  youth  may  grow  up 
steadily  to  the  conviction  that  a  gentleman  is  a  better 
tool  than  a  scrub  —  that  he  will  work  better,  play  bet- 
ter, and  fight  better;  and  conversely  that  he  who  will 
not  work  well,  play  well,  and  fight  well,  is  no  gentle- 
man. In  that  sense  I  should  be  glad  to  have  it  said  of 
our  education,  as  my  English  friend  said  of  his,  that 
American  education  is  primarily  intended  for  gentle- 
men. 


THE  CHOICE  OF  STUDIES  IN 
COLLEGE 

"T  EARN  to  do  the  thing  you  don't  want  to  do,  at 
-I— •/  the  time  you  don't  want  to  do  it,  and  to  do  it 
well."  This  was  the  sole  advice  given  by  a  successful 
New  York  lawyer  to  his  son  who  was  just  setting  out  on 
his  course  as  a  student  a  Harvard  College.  "Only  that 
work  can  be  well  and  profitably  done  which  is  done  of 
the  doer's  own  volition  and  in  which  he  finds  pleas- 
ure." This  in  substance  was  the  teaching  of  those  edu- 
cators who  led  in  what  we  may  safely  call  the  greatest 
educational  reform  through  which  our  country  has 
ever  passed. 

Here  we  have  two  apparently  irreconcilable  prin- 
ciples either  of  which  might  govern  a  student's  choice 
of  studies  in  a  college  where  a  large  freedom  of  election 
is  possible.  Are  they  irreconcilable?  Must  the  young 
man  at  the  outset  of  his  academic  life  accept  one  or  the 
other  of  these  alternatives,  and  if  so  which  is  the  more 
likely  to  give  him  the  kind  of  result  he  has  a  right  to 
expect?  Or,  is  it  possible  that  a  rational  combination 
of  the  two  may  best  of  all  serve  his  turn?  On  the  one 
hand  we  see  the  ideal  of  conformity  to  some  established 
order,  the  recognition  of  some  authority  which  the 
youth  is  bound  to  respect.  On  the  other  is  the  idea 
that  he  and  he  alone  has  the  right  to  set  the  standard 
that  shall  guide  him  through  the  whole  conduct  of  his 
collegiate  years.  In  support  of  the  former  ideal  he  will 

145 


146  LEARNING  AND  LIVING 

have  the  whole  force  of  tradition,  the  weight  of  expe- 
rience, the  security  of  conservatism.  For  the  latter  he 
has  only  himself  to  depend  upon.  To  be  sure,  he  may 
fortify  his  choice  by  every  kind  of  advice  he  can  get, 
but  in  the  last  resort  he  must  make  his  own  decisions 
and  abide  by  the  consequences. 

I  feel  myself  in  some  respects  especially  qualified  to 
sympathize  with  both  these  conceptions  of  academic 
duty,  because  I  have  had  the  opportunity  to  try  them 
both  under  very  varied  and  highly  instructive  condi- 
tions. The  first  two  years  of  my  college  life  were  passed 
under  the  old  traditional  compulsory  system,  with  a 
fixed  curriculum  of  studies,  a  strictly  regulated  scheme 
of  hours,  a  paternalistic  theory  of  college  morals,  and 
a  rigid  method  of  official  bookkeeping.  The  range  of 
studies  had  hardly  gone  beyond  the  conventional 
classics  and  mathematics,  with  a  prudent  sprinkling  of 
modern  languages  and  "science."  What  passed  for 
teaching  was  mainly  the  hearing  of  recitations  from 
text-books  and  the  checking  off  of  the  student's  class- 
room performances  on  a  numerical  rank  list.  During 
my  last  two  years,  under  the  presidency  of  Mr.  Eliot, 
changes  were  gradually  made  in  the  direction  of  larger 
liberty,  and  I  recall  with  the  greatest  vividness  the 
sense  of  stimulation  which  they  produced  in  young 
minds  not  at  all  capable  of  understanding  their  real 
import,  but  swift  to  respond  to  their  generous  appeal. 

When,  five  years  later,  I  returned  to  take  my  place 
on  the  other  side  of  the  teacher's  desk,  these  changes 
had  so  far  progressed  that  practically  the  whole  of  the 
college  offering  was  in  the  "elective"  column.  Mean- 


CHOICE  OF  STUDIES  IN  COLLEGE    147 

while  the  colleges  of  the  country  had  all  begun  to  feel 
the  breath  of  this  new  academic  spirit  and  by  the  year 
1880  it  was  clear  that  the  principle  of  a  large,  if  not  a 
complete  election  of  studies  was  so  firmly  established 
that  it  was  never  again  seriously  to  be  called  in  ques- 
tion. It  was  an  inspiring  experience  to  bear  one's 
modest  part  in  this  great  development.  The  "  eighties  " 
may  fairly  be  described  as  the  golden  age  of  academic 
freedom  in  this  country.  Alike  with  teachers  and 
pupils  it  was  like  a  new  wine,  rousing  them  out  of  the 
torpor  of  the  generation  just  past,  driving  them  to  new 
exertion  and  showing  them  ever  new  possibilities  of 
sound  accomplishment.  Criticism  there  always  was  in 
plenty.  The  faint-hearted  were  always  incredulous  as 
to  the  ultimate  effect  of  what  appeared  to  them  a  lax, 
ill-regulated,  haphazard  way  of  doing  things.  Youth, 
they  insisted,  would  never  be  anything  but  youth.  It 
could  never  rise  to  the  height  of  making  wise  decisions 
in  a  matter  involving  so  many  considerations  about 
which  youth  could  have  no  experience  and  only  the 
vaguest  kind  of  intuitions. 

The  inevitable  result  was  that  scruples  as  to  the 
wisdom  of  a  free  election  of  studies  began  to  gather 
force  and  to  take  form  in  protests,  investigations  and 
finally  in  administrative  action  of  various  sorts.  Re- 
straints of  one  kind  and  another  were  devised,  whereby 
the  principle  of  freedom  might  be  guided  in  "  safe  " 
directions  without  being  altogether  sacrificed.  Group- 
ings of  studies  were  attempted,  within  which  consider- 
able latitude  of  choice  might  be  allowed.  Certain 
studies  especially  liable  to  neglect  were  shifted  over 


148  LEARNING  AND  LIVING 

into  the  list  of  the  "required"  and  thereby  subjected 
to  a  notable  stigma  as  compared  with  the  "elective" 
subjects.  One  felt  as  one  looked  over  the  whole  field  of 
this  experimentation  how  firm  the  hold  of  the  elective 
idea  had  become.  A  young  teacher  given  his  choice 
between  a  position  where  he  would  be  called  upon  to  do 
required  work  and  another  where  his  work  would  be 
largely  elective  would  unhesitatingly  choose  the  latter, 
because  he  knew  that  it  would  give  him  a  more  stimu- 
lating response  to  his  own  scholarly  and  personal 
effort. 

Still  the  protest  and  the  limiting  went  on.  One  of 
the  most  disquieting  effects  of  the  free  election  was  the 
enormous  inflation  of  college  programs.  In  the  ab- 
sence of  any  clear  directing  principle  there  was  no 
better  guide  than  the  wish,  or  even  the  whim,  of  the  in- 
dividual teacher.  Nowhere  was  there  an  authoritative 
voice  with  the  right  or  the  power  to  speak  a  decisive 
word  as  to  the  relative  importance  of  this  or  that  "new 
course"  offered  out  of  the  fresh  enthusiasm  of  the 
teacher.  Such  enthusiasm  was  the  very  most  impor- 
tant asset  which  the  scholar  could  bring  to  the  service 
of  the  college.  Who  should  dare  quench  the  generous 
spirit  that  prompted  the  new  proposal?  It  was  the 
surest  proof  that  the  college  had  here  a  man  who  would 
grow  and  be  a  more  and  more  valuable  servant  as  long 
as  he  lived.  Certainly  faculty  committees  could  never 
undertake  any  effectual  control  over  this  expansion, 
for  the  privilege  they  might  deny  to  an  over  enthusias- 
tic colleague  they  might  well  be  seeking  for  themselves 
at  the  next  turn  of  affairs. 


CHOICE  OF  STUDIES  IN  COLLEGE    149 

Effective  criticism  of  this  inflation  of  programs  could 
hardly  come  from  any  source  outside  the  college,  be- 
cause outsiders  could  not  have  the  technical  knowledge 
which  might  make  their  criticism  valuable.  The  result 
has  been  that  the  offerings  in  all  departments  have 
grown  beyond  all  reasonable  bounds.  The  right  to  an- 
nounce almost  any  "course"  has  become  so  entrenched 
in  college  traditions  that  any  invasion  of  it  seems  like 
a  violation  of  the  first  principles  of  academic  freedom. 
This  is  not  the  place  for  any  discussion  of  the  limits 
which  might  wisely  be  set  to  the  widening  of  programs. 
I  refer  to  it  here  only  to  suggest  the  great  embarrass- 
ment of  riches  which  confronts  the  young  student  at 
the  very  outset  of  his  academic  life  and  also  to  remind 
the  reader  how  firmly  fixed  the  elective  principle  has 
become  in  our  American  higher  education. 

The  question  of  a  return  to  the  ancient  system  of 
required  studies  is  no  longer  open.  The  only  problems 
of  interest  are:  what  studies  should  be  optional,  upon 
what  principles  such  options  may  be  based,  how  they 
may  most  wisely  be  grouped,  at  what  stage  election 
should  begin,  and  how  the  choice  of  individual  students 
may  be  guided  —  if  indeed  guidance  be  admitted  at  all. 
These  questions  of  detail  are  answered  very  differently 
and  must  continue  to  receive  different  answers  accord- 
ing to  the  personal  convictions  and  the  corporate 
limitations  of  college  guardians.  Such  diversity  of 
opinion  and  of  practice  is  one  of  the  happy  conditions 
of  American  education.  It  will  be  a  sorry  day  when  our 
federal  supervision,  so  far  wisely  restricted  to  statistical 
functions,  shall  attempt  to  control  local  educational 


150  LEARNING  AND  LIVING 

effort  in  the  interest  of  a  standardized  and  therefore  a 
degraded  ideal  of  our  national  education.  Those  who 
can  afford  to  try  experiments  are  likely  to  keep  on 
doing  so,  and  those  who  either  cannot  afford  or  are  un- 
willing to  experiment  may  safely  wait  for  the  results. 

For  the  moment  we  are  concerned  with  no  one  of  the 
specific  questions  just  referred  to,  but  rather  with  the 
somewhat  more  general  problem:  given  a  tolerably 
free  elective  system,  are  there  any  principles  that  can 
safely  be  laid  down  by  which  all  elections  shall  be 
governed?  Obviously,  if  we  could  have  such  principles 
clearly  demonstrated  and  formulated  to  general  ac- 
ceptance there  would  be  little  room  for  election.  We 
should  only  have  to  turn  to  the  special  category  in 
which  the  individual  student  belonged  and  by  a  simple 
rule  of  thumb  pick  out  for  him  the  line  of  study  he  was 
predestined  to  follow.  Perhaps  in  some  academic  mil- 
lenium  our  friends,  the  psychological  pedagogues,  will 
have  discovered  the  desired  categories  and  furnished 
us  with  the  machinery  for  fitting  them  upon  the  right 
boy  at  the  right  moment.  For  the  present  we  are, 
however,  met  by  two  primary  difficulties.  First,  we 
cannot  say  precisely  what  studies  or  groups  of  studies 
will  produce  any  given  educational  result,  and  second, 
we  cannot  say  as  to  any  considerable  proportion  of 
boys  at  any  period  much  under  the  age  of  graduation 
from  college  just  what  aptitudes  and  qualities  of  char- 
acter ought  to  determine  their  choice  of  studies. 

These  obstacles  to  any  prescription  of  election  are 
fundamental,  but  this  has  not  prevented  us  from  a  vast 
deal  of  theorizing  and  not  a  little  practical  experiment- 


CHOICE  OF  STUDIES  IN  COLLEGE    151 

ing  on  the  tacit  assumption  that  such  obstacles  do  not 
exist.  We  have  built  up  elective  systems  on  the  sup- 
position that  principles  which  elude  the  trained  spec- 
ulation and  observation  of  experts  would  somehow 
reveal  themselves  unto  our  babes.  On  the  whole  far  less 
harm  has  been  done  by  these  experiments  than  might 
have  been  expected,  and  so  much  good  has  come  from 
them,  that  one  wonders  whether,  after  all,  we  may  not 
have  been  following  principles  without  knowing  it.  At 
any  rate  it  may  be  worth  while  to  try  to  formulate 
some  of  the  possibilities  that  confront  students  and 
their  advisers  both  lay  and  professional. 

Probably  all  would  agree  that  choice  of  studies 
ought  to  have  some  relation  to  the  ultimate  occupation 
of  the  youth;  but,  to  determine  this  relation  in  ad- 
vance two  things  are  necessary:  we  must  know  what 
the  occupation  is  to  be  and  we  must  be  clear  as  to  the 
bearing  of  studies  upon  it.  As  regards  the  first  point, 
there  are  those  who  believe  that  by  the  age  of  thirteen 
or  fourteen  a  boy's  tastes,  capacities  and  character  are 
clearly  enough  discernible  to  warrant  his  advisers  in 
planning  for  him  a  course  of  study  which  shall  lead  to 
some  specific  expertness.  There  are  others  who  think 
that  such  indications  are  altogether  misleading,  vague, 
transitory  impulses  having  only  the  value  of  prelimi- 
nary notes  of  quality,  to  be  borne  in  mind  indeed,  but 
not  to  be  trusted  or  built  upon.  Those  who  hold  this 
latter  view  maintain  that  such  differences  of  endow- 
ment as  can  safely  be  depended  upon  to  give  direction 
to  one's  life  are  matters  of  later  development;  that,  at 
least  up  to  the  age  of  entrance  to  college,  differences 


152  LEARNING  AND  LIVING 

are  to  be  described  in  terms  of  general  rather  than  of 
specific  quality;  boys  are  bright  or  stupid,  diligent  or 
lazy,  quick  or  slow,  receptive  or  resistant;  the  bright 
boy  is  bright  all  round,  the  dull  boy  is  apt  to  be  as  dull 
at  one  thing  as  another.  They  will  frankly  admit  that 
most  boys  find  some  things  "easier"  than  others,  but 
this,  they  say,  is  not  generally  indicative  of  anything 
upon  which  we  can  safely  act  in  advising  for  the  future. 
A  few  months  or  even  weeks  may  wholly  change  the 
boy's  view  of  a  subject.  What  repelled  him  under  one 
teacher  may  under  another  become  a  real  joy  to  him. 
What  seemed  at  the  beginning  unintelligible  and  was 
therefore  hateful  may  become  full  of  attraction  as  the 
boy  gets  deeper  and  deeper  into  its  meaning.  What 
was  a  mere  grind  so  long  as  it  stood  alone  begins  to 
light  up  in  all  directions  as  soon  as  it  appears  in  its  rela- 
tions to  other  subjects.  Geniuses  and  dolts  are  barred 
from  the  discussion;  the  mysterious  Providence  that 
created  them  will  take  care  of  them.  We  are  dealing 
with  the  normal  selected  boy  of  the  high  school  or  the 
academy,  whose  circumstances  permit  him  to  look 
forward  to  the  college. 

Among  such  boys,  say  the  opponents  of  an  early  and 
decisive  choice  of  studies  supposedly  leading  to  specific 
occupation,  any  such  early  decision  would  be  a  grievous 
wrong,  not  so  much  because  it  would  involve  him  in 
unprofitable  study,  as  because  it  would  cut  him  off 
from  many  lines  of  work  in  which  he  might  find  success 
and  which  he  will  probably  come  to  miss  when  it  is  too 
late.  On  the  other  hand,  the  friends  of  an  early  deter- 
mination of  choice  remind  us  that  life  is  shorter  than  it 


CHOICE  OF  STUDIES  IN  COLLEGE    153 

used  to  be;  that  we  are  preparing  a  generation  of  ex- 
perts; that  the  "all  round  man"  is  a  creature  of  the 
past;  that  the  future  belongs  to  the  man  of  training 
rather  than  to  the  man  of  "education."  They  tell  us 
that  there  is  no  successful  work  except  that  in  which 
we  delight,  and  that  we  cannot  delight  in  work  for 
which  we  have  no  taste.  They  call  our  attention  to  the 
wonderful  change  that  comes  over  the  spirit  of  a  man's 
work  when,  for  the  first  time,  he  finds  himself  really 
master  of  a  given  task  and  point  us  to  the  rapture  of 
the  man  or  the  boy  riding  a  hobby  as  the  supreme,  if 
sometimes  fantastic,  demonstration  of  their  view. 

From  this  comparison  of  opinions  we  come  back  to 
the  two  opposing  moral  views  of  education  with  which 
we  started.  If,  on  the  one  hand,  it  is  true  that  the  best 
work  comes  easiest  and  that,  therefore,  we  ought  in 
any  extended  scheme  of  liberal  education  to  include  a 
large  element  of  study  selected  on  the  ground  of  natural 
aptitude,  it  is  equally  true  on  the  other  hand,  that 
work  done  without  any  regard  to  whether  we  like  it  or 
not,  done  simply  because  it  is  given  us  to  do  and  done 
"as  by  God's  law"  has  also  its  great  educational  value. 
It  gives  to  the  doer  something  of  that  moral  force  with- 
out which  no  workman  is  thoroughly  well  equipped. 
It  teaches  him  to  do  his  work  without  thought  of  self. 
It  may  reveal  aptitudes  he  has  never  felt  or  shown 
before  and  it  will  certainly  give  him  a  confidence  in  all 
future  work  which  will  be  of  infinite  service  to  him.  If 
we  allow  a  too  early  election  of  studies  on  the  ground  of 
aptitude  there  is  danger  that  it  will  become  rather  a 
neglect  of  studies  on  the  ground  of  supposed  inapti- 
tude. 


154  LEARNING  AND  LIVING 

But  let  us  now  consider  the  large  class  of  cases  of 
fairly  clear  demarcation  along  lines  of  real  difference  in 
taste  and  capacity.  Such  cases  may  in  general  be 
brought  under  the  one  broad  distinction  of  the  "lit- 
erary" from  the  "scientific"  mind.  In  any  school 
there  will  be  boys  who  seem  to  take  naturally  to  books 
and  others,  equally  capable  and  intelligent,  who 
gather  their  knowledge  instinctively  from  their  obser- 
vation of  things  around  them.  To  the  former  class 
books  have  an  attraction  in  themselves;  to  the  latter 
they  are  rather  a  resort  for  the  explanation  of  puzzles  in 
the  world  of  observation.  The  former  have  an  instinc- 
tive taste  for  literary  form;  the  latter  are  interested 
only  in  what  the  book  has  to  say  about  the  thing  for 
which  they  consult  it.  Or  again,  to  carry  this  distinc- 
tion out  a  little  further:  there  will  always  be  one  class  of 
boys  to  whom  the  interesting  thing  is  always  the  hu- 
man thing  and  another  class  who  find  their  chief  pleas- 
ure in  things  "natural,"  as  we  say.  The  former  class  is 
naturally  driven  to  books  because  it  is  only  in  books 
that  the  record  of  human  experience  is  to  be  found,  and 
as  yet  they  have  had  no  chance  to  study  human  life  by 
the  way  of  observation.  The  latter  have  not  the  same 
need  of  books,  because  their  world  is  all  about  them, 
and  the  impulse  to  observe  and  to  conquer  it  is  strong 
within  them. 

So  it  comes  about  quite  naturally,  that  the  subjects 
which  interest  the  former  class  are  history  as  the  story 
of  organized  human  life,  imaginative  writing  as  the 
poetry  of  human  feeling,  language  because  it  is  the  ex- 
pression of  human  thought,  and  philosophy  because  it 


CHOICE  OF  STUDIES  IN  COLLEGE    155 

shows  them  the  play  of  the  human  mind  upon  prob- 
lems which  it,  and  it  alone  can  solve.  The  latter  class 
take  more  readily  to  mathematics  as  dealing  with  abso- 
lute relations  independent  of  all  human  thought  or 
will,  to  chemical  or  physical  experiment  as  helping  to 
explain  the  great  processes  of  outward  nature,  and  to 
geology  and  biology  as  showing  the  history  and  present 
conditions  of  the  world  of  matter. 

The  boy  who  is  always  to  be  found  curled  up  in  a 
corner  with  a  book,  and  the  boy  who  is  forever  roaming 
the  fields  hunting  for  "specimens"  are  the  types  of 
these  two  great  classes  of  mental  endowment.  I  am  not 
forgetting  that,  within  these  two  classes  are  infinite 
varieties  of  capacity  and  that  some  attention  must  be 
paid  to  these  varieties,  but  for  the  moment  we  may  re- 
gard these  two  groups  as  sufficiently  representing  the 
most  pressing  alternatives  in  the  young  man's  choice  of 
studies.  Let  us  suppose  that  by  the  age  of  fifteen  it  is 
tolerably  clear  in  which  of  these  groups  a  given  youth 
belongs;  how  shall  we  advise  him  in  his  choice?  Think- 
ing first  of  the  occupation  he  is  likely  to  follow,  we  shall 
probably  expect  that  the  bookish,  humanly  inclined 
boy  will  become  a  lawyer,  a  clergyman,  a  university 
man,  an  author,  a  journalist  or  a  politician  —  in  the 
nobler  sense  of  that  dubious  word  —  while  the  experi- 
menting, observing,  collecting  kind  of  boy  will  be  a 
physician,  a  professor  of  natural  science,  a  practical 
chemist,  an  engineer,  mining,  civil,  electrical,  sanitary 
or  what  not,  an  architect  or  a  manager  of  manufactur- 
ing interests.  Either  of  them  may  turn  out  an  ordinary 
business  man  in  such  line  of  work  as  accident  may 


156  LEARNING  AND  LIVING 

determine.  We  will  assume  that  each  is  free  to  follow 
his  natural  bent  as  far  as  he  will. 

Now  there  are  two  diametrically  opposed  theories  as 
to  the  proper  choice  of  studies  for  youths  of  these 
marked  tastes  and  capacities.  One  theory  is  that,  since 
the  final  occupation  is  to  be  determined  by  natural 
bent,  the  aim  of  education  should  be  to  strengthen  this 
bent  as  much  as  possible  and  to  begin  this  strengthen- 
ing process  as  early  as  possible.  It  should  be  taken  as  a 
providential  hint  and  followed  out  at  every  turn.  The 
youth  to  whom  knowledge  comes  most  easily  and 
naturally  through  books  should  be  given  books.  The 
tasks  his  soul  abhors,  such  as  measuring  lines  and  pro- 
ducing chemical  reactions  and  classifying  flowers  and 
comparing  rocks,  to  say  nothing  of  all  mathematics 
beyond  the  multiplication  table,  all  these  he  should  be 
spared.  They  find  no  response  within  him,  and  educa- 
tion without  the  inner  response  is  a  mere  mockery. 

So  with  the  youth  of  "scientific"  tastes;  why  tor- 
ment him  with  human  history?  He  is  willing  to  take 
all  that  for  granted;  or  with  ancient  literature?  it  has 
no  message  for  him;  or  with  poetry  which  deals  only 
with  fictions,  while  facts,  clear,  palpable  facts,  are 
what  he  cares  for;  or  with  the  idle  speculations  of  phi- 
losophy, when  things  as  they  are  so  completely  absorb 
and  satisfy  him.  Let  each  follow  the  line  of  least  resist- 
ance; this  will  carry  him  farther  with  less  loss  of  power. 
His  work  will  all  be  of  the  happy  kind  which  alone  can 
bring  success,  and  success  again  will  give  strength  and 
confidence  for  more  work  to  come.  At  the  conclusion 
of  his  studies  he  will  be  an  "expert,"  and  there  will  be 


CHOICE  OF  STUDIES  IN  COLLEGE    157 

a  place  waiting  for  him  where  he  can  apply  himself 
with  most  effect  in  the  work  of  the  expert  world. 

Opposed  to  this  theory  is  another  equally  well  de- 
fined and  equally  dear  to  those  who  hold  it.  They 
oppose  the  principle  of  specific  training  because  they 
believe  that  a  man  so  trained  from  a  very  early  period 
will  be  a  less  effective  man  in  his  own  line  than  if  he 
had  made  himself  acquainted  with  a  wider  range  of  sub- 
jects and  had  given  his  mind  a  chance  to  work  in  a 
greater  variety  of  ways.  Not  only,  they  say,  would  his 
interests  in  the  world  be  thus  greatly  increased  and 
widened,  but  the  reaction  of  these  larger  interests 
upon  his  own  profession  would  give  him  a  kind  of  mas- 
tery in  it  which  a  man  whose  point  of  view  during  his 
years  of  preparation  had  been  almost  exclusively  fixed 
upon  one  single  professional  end  could  hardly  hope  to 
attain.  How  complete  the  opposition  between  these 
two  opinions  is  may  be  illustrated  by  an  experience  of 
the  writer.  Happening,  in  the  course  of  conversation 
with  a  very  eminent  authority  in  education,  to  express 
the  opinion  that  a  certain  youth  looking  forward  to  the 
medical  profession  would  do  well  to  follow  in  college 
chiefly  studies  not  related  to  medicine,  I  received  the 
reply:  "Well,  in  my  judgment  a  man  who  should 
give  that  advice  would  be  little  less  than  crazy."  It 
was  not  a  tactful  answer,  but  it  had  at  least  the  great 
merit  of  frankness.  It  expressed  with  perfect  accuracy 
the  argument  for  expert  training.  The  conception  of 
an  education  beyond  the  early  secondary  stage  which 
should  make  every  thoughtful  expert  a  better  man  in 
his  profession  simply  did  not  exist  in  the  mind  of  this 


158  LEARNING  AND  LIVING 

leader  of  educational  thought.  It  represented  to  him 
an  antiquated  theory  destined  to  give  way  rapidly  be- 
fore the  advancing  demands  of  the  expert  world. 

In  telling  this  experience  I  have  already  indicated  to 
which  side  of  this  fundamental  question  my  own  sym- 
pathies incline.  Of  course,  every  one  must  admit  the 
immense  increase  of  specialization  in  every  field  of 
activity,  and  no  thoughtful  person  can  doubt  that  in 
truth  the  future  of  professional  success  belongs  largely 
to  the  specialized  expert.  That  is  not  the  question. 
The  question  is:  what  is  the  function  of  education  in 
college  and  secondary  school,  dealing  with  selected 
youths  from,  say,  fifteen  to  twenty-two,  in  view  of  the 
fact  that  the  best  of  them  are  destined  to  become  ulti- 
mately more  or  less  narrow  specialists?  Does  this  fact 
make  it  more,  or  does  it  make  it  less  incumbent  on  the 
sub-professional  education  to  supply  a  basis  of  liberal 
culture  of  mind  and  soul  upon  which  a  true  specializa- 
tion may  be  built? 

At  the  risk  of  seeming  a  candidate  for  a  mad-house  I 
venture  to  submit  that  this  inevitable  fact  of  specializa- 
tion lays  upon  our  colleges  more  than  ever  the  duty  of 
holding  a  much  needed  balance  between  the  demands 
of  the  professions  and  those  of  society,  of  American 
democratic  society,  upon  the  educated  man.  In  our 
world  no  man  can  be  so  much  a  specialist  that  he  can 
afford  to  neglect  the  all  important  fact  of  his  American 
citizenship.  The  physician,  for  example,  is  not  merely 
a  physician.  True,  during  the  first  years  of  stress,  in 
which  he  is  making  his  place  in  professional  life,  noth- 
ing is  so  important  to  him  as  success  in  that  line  and  in 


CHOICE  OF  STUDIES  IN  COLLEGE    159 

that  alone.  But,  as  soon  as  his  place  is  secure,  other 
demands  press  in  upon  him.  He  becomes,  as  a  citizen, 
professionally  responsible  for  the  health  of  his  com- 
munity. Public  works  requiring  a  knowledge  of  men 
and  of  politics  claim  him  as  professional  adviser  and 
advocate.  School  administration,  happily  not  yet  en- 
tirely in  expert  hands,  needs  his  help.  Charity  or- 
ganization with  its  infinitely  complicated  moral  and 
social  aspects  calls  upon  him.  The  moment  he  turns  to 
any  one  of  these  subjects  he  finds  that  his  exclusively 
professional  training  does  not  take  him  very  far.  If  in 
his  formative  years  his  interest  in  subjects  lying  ap- 
parently far  beyond  the  reach  of  his  future  profession 
has  not  been  aroused,  his  sympathies  with  human  life 
in  all  its  varied  aspects  quickened,  his  mind  stirred  to 
some  active  reflection  upon  the  great  problems  of  the 
speculative  world,  problems  which,  after  all,  underlie 
the  practical  working  of  life  as  it  is  —  if  on  all  these 
sides  he  has  received  no  impulses  during  the  irre- 
sponsible years  of  his  youth  he  will  be  a  less  valuable 
physician  than  he  ought  to  be.  He  may  be  doing  incal- 
culable good  in  his  specialty,  but  he  will  find  many  sides 
of  himself  atrophied  for  lack  of  use,  and  there  will  be 
countless  times  when  as  a  man  among  men,  as  a  citizen 
of  the  Republic,  he  will  miss  what  it  is  now  too  late  for 
him  to  gain.  If,  however,  in  those  earlier  years  he  has 
kept  himself  open  to  all  those  other  influences,  has 
learned  something  of  what  history  and  literature  and 
philosophy  have  to  teach,  no  matter  how  closely  his 
special  work  may  have  held  him,  when  he  is  again 
brought  into  contact  with  these  things  he  has  points  of 


160  LEARNING  AND  LIVING 

sympathy  which  will  enable  him  at  once  to  take  up  new 
lines  of  activity  and  not  fall  out  of  the  special  service 
he  has  trained  himself  to  give.  The  whole  vast  move- 
ment of  human  life  takes  on  new  meanings  for  him  the 
moment  he  feels  that  his  specialty  is  only  one  little 
part  of  it  all,  a  part  that  needs  all  the  rest  to  make  its 
own  meaning  complete. 

If  this  is  true  of  the  physician,  whose  work  by  its 
very  nature  touches  so  closely  upon  all  human  rela- 
tions, the  same  may  be  said  with  even  greater  force  of 
many  other  forms  of  expert  training  that  seem  to  re- 
move a  man  further  from  human  contact.  Take,  for 
example,  the  great  and  almost  new  profession  of 
engineering  in  all  its  multitudinous  forms  —  the  build- 
ing of  railways  and  bridges,  the  working  of  mines  and 
all  the  machinery  that  belongs  to  it,  the  application  of 
constantly  new  forces  to  the  service  of  man.  Is  he 
going  to  be  the  leader  in  all  this  wonderful  activity 
whose  mind  has  never  been  allowed  to  take  its  period 
of  non-professional,  that  is  "liberal,"  wandering  in 
fields  where  he  knew  he  was  not  going  to  spend  his  pro- 
ductive years?  Is  it  not  rather  to  be  expected  that  the 
more  broadly  a  man  is  equipped  in  the  years  of  forma- 
tion, the  more  effective  will  be  his  leadership  in  the 
years  of  production?  It  is  true,  that  the  great  mass  of 
journey-work  in  every  profession  will  have  to  be  done 
by  the  men  of  severe  and  narrow  training;  but  that  is 
not  the  question  for  the  advisers  of  college  students. 
Their  problem  is  rather  this:  shall  these  selected 
youths,  who,  if  any,  ought  to  look  forward  to  being  the 
leaders  of  their  generation,  be  advised  to  get  into  the 


CHOICE  OF  STUDIES  IN  COLLEGE    161 

line  of  specialization  as  soon  as  possible  or  to  prolong, 
as  far  as  they  dare,  the  precious  period  of  wider  study? 

There  is  one  widespread  delusion  on  which  a  word  of 
warning  may  be  in  place  at  just  this  point.  Admitting 
heartily  the  value  of  wider  interests  men  often  say:  Oh, 
there  will  be  plenty  of  time  for  these  things  by-and- 
by.  First  professional  success,  and  then,  in  the  pleas- 
ant shadow  of  later  life  we  will  come  round  to  these 
more  genial  pursuits.  There  can  be  no  greater  self- 
deception  than  this.  The  strain  of  professional  life 
never  grows  less.  Success  only  brings  new  responsibil- 
ity and  opens  new  avenues  to  ambition.  The  promised 
time  of  relaxation  never  comes,  and  our  youthful  en- 
thusiasms remain  a  happy  vision  of  the  past.  If  we  are 
ever  to  give  our  young  men  that  wider  view  of  study 
and  thought  which  shall  make  specialization  intelligent 
and  effective,  we  must  give  it  to  them  early,  and  we 
must  not  cut  it  off  too  soon.  Once  stopped,  it  can  never 
be  taken  up  again.  Carried  on  long  enough  to  show  its 
real  value,  such  "  liberal "  study  remains  as  a  deposit  of 
suggestion  and  inspiration  upon  which,  as  occasion 
offers,  the  man  may  draw  with  ever  renewed  confidence. 

Coming  back  once  more  to  our  crude  division  of  boys 
into  the  bookish-humane-literary  class  and  the  observ- 
ing-collecting-experimenting  class  I  venture  to  give 
this  general  advice  as  to  the  choice  of  studies  in  school 
and  college.  For  boys  of  both  classes  up  to  the  college 
age,  a  fairly  even  division  between  the  two  types  of 
subject.  Momentary  distaste  should  have  but  little 
weight  in  the  decision  at  this  stage.  If  lack  of  taste  pre- 
vent high  success  in  certain  lines  of  work,  no  matter; 


162  LEARNING  AND  LIVING 

let  the  boy  feel  that  this  is  only  a  natural  part  of  his 
experience.  He  ought  to  expect  to  do  better  in  some 
things  than  in  others.  Only  be  sure  that  his  supposed 
distaste  does  not  arise  from  bad  teaching  or  from  some 
other  accidental  circumstance.  Save  him,  if  possible, 
from  the  notion  that  he  is  in  any  way  "peculiar"  in  his 
likes  and  dislikes.  Persuade  him  for  the  present  to  take 
things  as  they  come  and  to  believe  that  if  he  will  only 
work  hard  he  can  conquer  even  the  most  repellant  of 
tasks.  It  is  pretty  safe  to  say  that  nothing  he  may  ac- 
quire in  this  preliminary  study  will  be  wasted  in  the 
long  account. 

This  leads  me  to  say  a  word  on  one  of  the  most 
subtle  temptations  offered  to  the  youth  and  his  ad- 
visers. "Development  of  the  individual,"  "special 
attention  to  individual  peculiarities,"  "special  courses 
for  individual  pupils  "  —  these  are  some  of  the  catch- 
words of  "educators"  who  like  to  talk  about  the 
"New  Education,"  as  if  there  were  any  educational 
nostrum  that  has  not  been  tried  over  and  over  again 
and  become  "old"  in  its  turn.  The  emphasis  on  the 
individual  is  doubtless  due  to  a  reaction  against  an 
over  emphasis  upon  uniformity,  regularity  and  system 
which  was  the  natural  accompaniment  of  the  prodi- 
gious advance  in  all  the  mechanisms  of  education  in  the 
generation  just  passed.  The  public  school  and  its 
natural  sequence  the  state  university  could  hardly 
have  been  brought  to  their  present  dimensions  without 
some  such  exaggeration  of  the  elements  of  uniformity. 
All  standardization  must  necessarily  press  rather 
downward  than  upward,  and  it  is  a  not  unwholesome 


CHOICE  OF  STUDIES  IN  COLLEGE     163 

sign  that  thoughtful  persons  are  reacting  against  it  in 
favor  of  a  greater  regard  for  the  individual. 

What  specially  concerns  us  here  is  the  danger  of 
keeping  the  pupil's  individuality  in  the  foreground  of 
his  own  thought  and  that  of  his  advisers.  That  danger 
is  especially  to  be  guarded  against  in  this  whole  matter 
of  the  choice  of  studies  in  college.  Most  youths  are  not 
exceptional  in  any  sense  that  is  worth  very  much  con- 
sideration in  determining  the  course  of  their  academic 
life.  They  have  their  peculiarities,  of  course,  and  these 
are  bound  to  work  themselves  out  in  the  detail  of  their 
study.  That  is  wholesome,  and  to  the  wise  teacher  it 
is  the  most  welcome  of  all  signs  that  the  youth  has 
something  in  him  worth  working  for.  I  am  only  insist- 
ing that  it  should  not  be  made  the  starting-point  of 
educational  effort. 

The  advocates  of  "individual  attention"  are  fond 
of  pointing  back  to  an  iron  age  of  deadly  routine,  of 
compulsory  curricula,  of  dreary  memorizing,  of  un- 
necessary repetition,  and  all  the  rest  of  it.  They  show 
us  by  comparison  the  flowery  paths  of  joy  in  learning, 
of  short  cuts  to  what  is  essential,  of  play  as  a  form  of 
work.  They  forget  that  learning  in  itself  brings  joy, 
that  the  essential  thing  reached  first  by  the  long  road 
opens  up  the  short  cut,  and  that  work  well  done  be- 
comes the  most  satisfying  sort  of  play.  First  the  learn- 
ing, the  patient  long  road,  the  unreluctant  work,  and 
then  will  come  the  joy,  the  dexterity  and  the  sense  of 
ease  we  call  play.  Let  the  youth  planning  his  college 
work  think  of  himself  first  as  probably  a  very  ordinary 
person  and,  on  the  whole,  follow  the  well-trodden 


164  LEARNING  AND  LIVING 

paths.  As  he  advances  along  these  he  will  certainly 
perceive  in  himself  aptitudes  for  one  or  another  kind  of 
work,  and  may  gradually  trust  himself  more  and  more 
to  their  leading. 

There  can  be  no  doubt  that  the  system  of  rigid  uni- 
form requirement  offered  a  premium  for  the  display  of 
some  of  the  worst  qualities  in  the  teacher.  It  tended 
to  elevate  the  brutal  drillmaster  to  the  highest  place  in 
the  pedagogic  hierarchy.  The  "successful"  teacher 
was  the  one  who  could  show  the  highest  record  of  can- 
didates for  promotion,  no  matter  by  what  shady  meth- 
ods such  records  were  produced.  And  yet,  as  the 
victims  of  these  methods  look  back  over  their  school 
years,  they  see  the  value  of  much  that  was  hateful  to 
them  at  the  time.  They  see  that  the  really  good 
teacher,  even  under  a  vicious  system,  was  perfectly 
aware  of  individual  capacities  and  incapacities  and 
strove  in  his  way  to  utilize  them  both  for  the  profit  of 
his  pupils. 

Thus  prepared  the  boy  will  enter  college  with  the 
beginnings  of  many  subjects  and  with  a  pretty  fair 
idea  of  the  general  kinds  of  work  in  which  he  may  excel. 
With  the  change  from  school  to  college  comes  also  an- 
other change,  so  subtle  and  yet  so  fundamental  that 
until  it  takes  place  one  is  never  safe  in  predicting  very 
confidently  as  to  a  boy's  future.  The  sudden  increase 
of  responsibility,  the  novel  methods  of  teaching  with 
their  appeal  to  his  own  initiative  and  their  hints  of  a 
great  world  of  learning  beyond,  the  stimulus  of  con- 
tact with  superior  boys  from  other  schools  and  dif- 
ferent homes,  all  these  are  likely  to  rouse  in  any 


CHOICE  OF  STUDIES  IN  COLLEGE    165 

youth  not  wholly  indifferent  a  multitude  of  new  ideas. 
Gradually  his  own  tastes  and  capacities  become  clearer 
to  himself  and  to  others.  His  own  judgment  as  to  what 
he  had  better  do  becomes  more  decided  and  more 
trustworthy.  Now  he  and  his  advisers  are  better  able 
to  form  some  plan  of  studies  which  shall  enable  him  to 
get  out  of  his  college  life  all  there  is  in  it  for  him.  As- 
suming still  that  our  boy  has  shown  a  fairly  distinct 
leaning  towards  one  or  the  other  of  our  two  great 
classes  of  subjects,  how  shall  this  inclination  now 
influence  his  choice? 

Up  to  now  he  has  carried  on  both  types  of  work  with 
a  fair  degree  of  evenness.  He  has  made  many  begin- 
nings, but,  if  he  is  a  boy  of  any  perception  he  must 
often  have  felt  the  unsatisfactoriness  of  this  way  of 
working.  Often  he  must  have  thought:  "Dear  me! 
If  only  I  might  go  on  with  this  thing  and  not  be  com- 
pelled, just  as  I  am  getting  into  it,  to  switch  off  to 
something  else!"  Such  a  feeling  of  impatience  is  just 
the  best  possible  hint  for  him  that  now  at  last  the  time 
has  come  when  he  may  wisely  do  what  he  has  vaguely 
desired  to  do.  Now  the  moment  has  come  for  him  to 
taste  some  of  the  joys  of  specialization.  But  with  this 
come  also  the  further  questions:  how  far  shall  he 
specialize  and  along  what  lines?  As  to  the  extent  of 
specialization,  no  precise  answer  can  be  given,  but, 
speaking  in  terms  of  proportion,  it  would  generally  be 
a  pity  if  more  than  one  half  of  an  undergraduate's 
time  should  be  given  to  any  one  line  of  study.  Nor 
should  that  half  be  the  last  two  years  of  his  college 
time.  It  should  be  so  distributed  throughout  his  four 


166  LEARNING  AND  LIVING 

years  that  he  can  plan  some  definite  progression  from 
the  elementary  to  the  advanced  and  at  the  same  time 
may  continue  his  studies  in  what  he  will  now  be  think- 
ing of  as  his  outside  or  "minor"  interests.  In  general 
we  may  say  that  the  proportion  of  specialization 
should  increase  but  should  never  come  to  exclude  more 
general  studies.  Acting  upon  this  plan  he  should  be 
able  to  secure  a  group  of  courses  of  instruction  which 
may  fairly  be  considered  a  topical  unit. 

If  I  have  seemed  so  far  to  emphasize  chiefly  the  im- 
portance of  a  wide  and  liberal  choice  of  studies  I  may 
perhaps  with  the  more  reason  dwell  for  a  moment 
upon  the  value  of  specialization.  In  moderation  its 
value  to  the  undergraduate  is  very  great.  It  gives  him, 
probably  for  the  first  time  in  his  life,  a  sense  of  power. 
Until  now  his  acquirements  have  seemed  fatally  unre- 
lated to  each  other  and  to  any  perceptible  end.  Now 
he  sees  relations  shaping  themselves  at  every  turn. 
Whatever  he  does  takes  on  meaning  by  its  dependence 
upon  something  else.  On  many  a  little  point  he  may 
even  become  a  kind  of  authority  among  his  mates,  and 
his  own  proper  self-respect  grows  accordingly.  New 
possibilities  develop  themselves  before  him,  new  ca- 
pacities shape  themselves  within  him.  The  skill  he 
acquires  in  his  special  work  comes  into  play  elsewhere. 
He  feels  now,  as  never  before,  the  value  of  his  teachers, 
and  gains  some  notion  of  the  ways  they  have  gone 
before  him. 

These  are  not  on  my  part  a  priori  speculations  but 
the  result  of  long  experience  and  observation.  I  recall 
a  long  procession  of  youths  to  whom  this  kind  of 


CHOICE  OF  STUDIES  IN  COLLEGE    167 

specialized  work  was  an  epoch  in  their  lives.  One  of  the 
most  harum-scarum  victims  of  a  foolish  early  training 
I  have  ever  known  was  saved  to  usefulness  and  self- 
respect  by  the  sudden  discovery  in  himself  of  capacity 
in  a  certain  line  of  effort  and  the  sense  of  mastery  which 
even  such  fitful  application  to  it  as  he  could  give  had 
brought  him.  I  asked  a  youth  who  had  apparently 
wasted  three  years  of  college  life  what  had  converted 
him  into  the  eager  and  successful  student  of  medicine 
he  had  then  become.  He  answered:  "Nine  hours  a 
day  for  six  weeks  in  a  chemical  laboratory." 

If  then  specialization  at  a  rather  early  stage  of  edu- 
cation is  desirable,  how  far  shall  the  college  go  in  insist- 
ing upon  it  ?  I  incline  to  the  opinion  of  those  who  would 
make  it  in  some  form  a  condition  of  the  bachelor's  de- 
gree. It  used  to  be  said  that  this  degree  represented 
only  an  accumulation  of  variegated  incapacities.  What 
this  reproach  meant  was  that  the  newly  fledged  Eac- 
calaureus  had  been  allowed  to  browse  over  so  wide  a 
field  that  he  had  gathered  nowhere  a  substantial  meal. 
It  is  on  the  whole  an  encouraging  sign  that  college  pro- 
grams are  more  and  more  trying  to  overcome  this  evil. 
Under  various  forms  of  grouping,  expressed  sometimes 
in  rather  fantastic  language,  they  are  inviting  students 
to  decide,  not  too  late,  in  what  kind  of  study  they 
would  like  to  spend  a  considerable  part  of  their  college 
time.  The  plan  I  have  elsewhere  l  suggested  of  making 
the  degree  depend  upon  the  passing  of  a  series  of 
graded  examinations  is  based  upon  this  idea.  By  this 
method  the  holder  of  a  bachelor's  degree  would  make 

1  Pages  122  sqq. 


i68  LEARNING  AND  LIVING 

some  approach  to  the  attractive  if  impossible  standard 
of  the  man  who  "knows  something  about  everything 
and  everything  about  something."  At  all  events  he 
would  know  something  about  a  good  many  things  and 
a  good  deal  about  one  of  them.  He  will  have  learned 
to  concentrate  upon  something,  and  he  will  have  had 
at  the  same  time  the  advantage  of  distribution  over  a 
rather  wide  range  of  interests. 

Up  to  this  point  we  have  been  dealing  with  boys 
whose  future  was  so  far,  but  only  so  far,  indicated  that 
we  could  classify  them  roughly  into  two  main  groups, 
the  "literary"  and  the  "scientific."  But  aside  from 
these  there  are  two  other  classes  to  be  considered.  One 
includes  the  small  number  of  those  youths  whose  taste 
and  capacity  point  with  absolute  certainty,  as  by  the 
finger  of  Destiny,  to  a  definite  profession.  For  these 
predestined  specialists  the  choice  of  studies  would 
seem  to  be  the  simplest  possible.  Here  plainly  is  a 
"  leading  "  not  to  be  distrusted.  To  check  such  a  divine 
impulse  seems  to  be  a  sort  of  sacrilege.  And,  indeed,  if 
we  could  be  sure  that  with  the  clearly  pronounced 
taste  there  went  and  always  would  go  an  equally  pro- 
nounced capacity  for  work  and  an  equally  intelligent 
grasp  of  the  things  made  attractive  by  taste,  then 
surely  one  would  be  inclined  to  say:  here  at  last  is  a 
case  where  everything  ought  to  be  done  to  strengthen 
the  natural  bent.  Let  this  youth  have  his  full  swing, 
and  take  the  chances. 

Unfortunately,  what  seemed  to  be  a  rare  combina- 
tion of  taste  and  capacity  only  too  often  proves  to  be 
rather  taste  and  incapacity.  Let  any  one  familiar,  for 


CHOICE  OF  STUDIES  IN  COLLEGE    169 

example,  with  the  profession  of  the  ministry  try  to  re- 
call how  many  cases  he  has  known  of  youths  who 
fancied  themselves  "called"  to  that  honorable  service 
but  who  proved  to  be  absolutely  unfitted  for  its  exact- 
ing demands.  Their  tastes  pointed  correctly,  but  their 
capacities  failed  to  respond.  And,  on  the  other  side  of 
the  house,  how  many  a  youth  "of  scientific  tastes"  has 
found  himself  unequal  to  the  strain  of  prolonged  and 
patient  investigation  or  to  the  intelligent  application  of 
details  to  conclusions.  Especially  misleading  are  the 
indications  of  taste  in  the  field  of  aesthetics.  The 
"artistic  temperament"  manifesting  itself  in  a  pre- 
cocious knack  at  expression  in  whatever  form,  appeals 
with  especial  force  to  indulgent  advisers  not  similarly 
endowed.  Because  they  cannot  understand  him  they 
feel  that  this  youth  must  be  of  some  unusual  clay,  and 
they  hesitate  to  distort  the  model.  Let  him  follow  his 
bent,  they  say,  and  trust  to  his  genius  to  see  him 
through.  They  are  likely  to  forget  that  of  all  tempera- 
ments the  artistic  is  the  least  to  be  counted  upon. 
"Taste"  may  well  prove  to  be  only  a  form  of  laziness. 
The  great  artists  have  seldom  leaned  very  heavily  on 
their  temperaments.  They  have  learned  their  trade, 
whatever  it  may  have  been,  in  the  sweat  of  hard  and 
often  uncongenial  work.  The  greatest  of  them  have 
been  artists  all  round,  men  who  saw  and  felt  the  world 
about  them  with  sympathetic  insight.  He  who  hopes 
to  join  their  illustrious  company  should  begin  by  lay- 
ing broad  and  deep  the  foundations  of  a  liberal  educa- 
tion with  so  much  of  specialization  as  will  serve  to  keep 
his  goal  always  before  him. 


LEARNING  AND  LIVING 

Taste  is  an  indication,  not  to  be  neglected;  it  is  not  a 
guide  to  be  too  closely  followed.  Even  if  we  could  be 
sure  that  the  youth  is  to  pursue  the  course  of  life  to- 
ward which  his  tastes  seem  to  point,  we  cannot  be  sure 
that  this  very  life  will  not  demand  of  him  at  every  turn 
the  kind  of  training  he  has  seen  fit  to  avoid.  Life  is  too 
complicated;  it  will  not  be  checked  off  into  separate 
little  fields.  The  borders  cross  and  cross  again.  Even 
the  predestined  specialist  needs  the  balance  that  comes 
from  a  sympathetic  understanding  of  other  men's 
work.  If  he  has  not  that  his  own  work  will  suffer.  Only 
the  genius,  a  part  of  whose  endowment  is  precisely  this 
intuitive  sense  of  relation  and  proportion,  can  afford  to 
trust  entirely  and  from  the  beginning  the  leading  of  his 
own  impulses.  A  safe  principle  in  dealing  with  a  boy  of 
marked  and  irrepressible  tastes  would  be  to  give  him 
every  reasonable  opportunity  to  demonstrate  their 
force  and  permanence.  At  the  same  time  he  should  not 
be  allowed  to  neglect  studies  seemingly  unrelated  to  his 
tastes.  Then,  in  proportion  as  his  tastes  develop  into 
aptitudes  and  these  again  into  accomplishment,  he  may 
more  and  more  freely  follow  them.  If  he  grows  in  wis- 
dom as  he  grows  in  learning  he  will  himself  be  the  first 
to  recognize  the  value  of  the  things  he  had  been 
tempted  to  neglect.  He  will  come  out  a  clearly  de- 
fined specialist,  but  not  a  narrow  one.  As  he  leaves  col- 
lege already  marked  as  a  man  of  promise  in  his  line  he 
will  be  prepared  to  take  up  the  advanced  work  of  his 
profession  with  an  intelligence  born  of  respect  for  all 
learning  as  ultimately  related  to  his  own. 


CHOICE  OF  STUDIES  IN  COLLEGE    171 

These  form  our  first  class  of  exceptional  youths  — 
exceptional  in  the  distinctness  of  their  tastes  and  their 
apparent  aptitudes.  The  second  class  of  exceptions 
includes  the  extreme  opposites  of  these,  the  boys  who 
have,  or  seem  to  have,  no  definite  leanings  of  any  sort. 
So  devoid  of  such  indications  are  they  that  we  cannot 
even  place  them  in  our  two  chief  divisions  of  the  lit- 
erary and  the  scientific  types.  Eventually  they  may 
become  professional  men  or  business  men,  or  they  may 
join  the  slowly  increasing  ranks  of  the  unclassified. 
On  the  whole,  perhaps  this  is  the  happiest  group  of  all. 
It  may  well  be  doubted  if  it  contains  a  larger  pro- 
portion of  the  really  idle  and  indifferent  than  the 
others;  for  moral  distinctions  run  criss-cross  through 
all  varieties  of  taste  and  capacity. 

These  are  the  men  of  all  others  for  whom  an  elective 
system  may  have  the  greatest  value,  as  it  may  also 
prove  the  greatest  snare.  If  we  could  follow  the  work- 
ing of  the  minds  of  this  more  or  less  submerged  section 
of  our  youth  we  should  probably  find  that,  consciously 
or  unconsciously,  they  were  spending  more  energy 
than  they  would  care  to  confess  in  the  effort  to  find  out 
what  they  do  like  and  what  they  are  fit  for.  That  is  a 
perfectly  rational  use  of  energy  in  a  young  man,  and  it 
should  be  respected,  but  it  cannot  count  for  very  much 
in  the  general  scheme  of  his  college  life.  The  fleeting 
glimpses  he  may  catch  from  time  to  time  are  pretty 
likely  to  prove  mere  will-o'-the-wisps,  quite  unsafe 
guides  for  him  to  follow.  If  he  trusts  them  his  regrets 
as  to  his  choice  will  probably  outweigh  his  satisfac- 
tions. 


172  LEARNING  AND  LIVING 

At  all  events  let  him  not  begin  too  early  to  trouble 
himself  on  this  point.  Let  him  make  some  kind  of  plan 
without  special  reference  to  his  supposed  likes  or  dis- 
likes and  then  pursue  this  plan  pretty  strictly  until  he 
gets  some  certain  evidence  of  its  unsuitableness  for 
him.  Such  a  plan  would  have  to  be  based  upon  some 
principle,  and  perhaps  this  would  serve  as  well  as  an- 
other: At  first  let  him  follow  a  number  of  different 
subjects,  partly  in  continuation  of  those  he  began  at 
school,  partly  breaking  new  ground.  Then,  after  a 
year  or  more,  let  him  pursue  somewhat  more  specially 
those  lines  in  which  he  has  had  most  success.  It  would 
be  well  if  out  of  these  he  could  select  some  group  as  a 
topical  unit  in  which  he  may  possibly  hope  for  some- 
thing like  distinction.  It  will  be  a  happiness  for  such  a 
youth  if  he  can  prepare  such  a  plan  at  the  very  outset 
of  his  college  life  reserving,  however,  the  possibility  of 
change  as  his  knowledge  of  himself  and  of  his  circum- 
stances shall  increase. 

Almost  any  plan  will  be  better  than  the  haphazard 
suggestions  upon  which  a  large  part  of  our  college  elec- 
tions are  based.  It  would  be  idle  to  offer  here  more 
than  the  most  general  hints,  for  the  choice  of  every 
youth  will  properly  vary  somewhat  from  that  of  every 
other;  but  it  would  not  be  out  of  place  if  colleges  were 
to  issue  model  groups  of  studies  based  upon  certain 
different  sets  of  conditions.  That  this  has  not  been 
done  more  than  it  has  is  the  proof  of  its  exceeding 
difficulty.  It  is  also  one  of  the  best  justifications  of  a 
wide  elective  system,  for  if  such  guides  were  easily 
accessible  an  elective  system  would  be  a  superfluous 
luxury. 


CHOICE  OF  STUDIES  IN  COLLEGE    173 

On  the  other  hand  a  free  elective  system  is  a  per- 
manent challenge  to  individuals  —  teachers,  students 
of  pedagogy,  men  of  letters  or  of  science,  any  one  who 
can  speak  with  a  show  of  authority,  to  publish  and  de- 
fend such  theories  of  election  as  seem  to  them  likely  to 
be  useful.  These  theories  can  carry  no  greater  weight 
than  belongs  to  the  personality  of  their  authors.  Com- 
parison between  them  may  be  a  most  useful  and  in- 
structive aid  to  those  who  have  to  advise  students  in 
specific  cases.  The  trouble  with  such  attempts  gen- 
erally has  been,  that  they  have  tried  to  cover  too  wide 
a  range  of  needs  under  one  theory,  or  have  been  built 
up  too  exclusively  with  reference  to  some  one  deter- 
mining idea.  If,  for  example,  we  are  given  a  workable 
scheme  based  upon  future  occupation,  it  would  hope- 
lessly fail  to  help  those  who  have  no  clear  idea  as  to 
what  their  future  occupation  is  to  be.  If  we  could 
satisfy  the  demands  of  the  undetermined,  we  should 
miss  the  needs  of  the  specially  endowed.  A  college 
course  might  well  be  sketched  on  the  basis  of  carrying 
out  to  completion  the  work  already  begun  in  the 
school.  We  can  imagine  an  attractive  and  apparently 
intelligent  set  of  plans  based  upon  psychological  prin- 
ciples as  seen  in  the  order  of  development  of  the  hu- 
man faculties.  Some  day,  perhaps,  the  doctrine  of 
"educational  values"  will  be  so  clearly  worked  out 
that  we  can  prescribe  effective  doses  of  this  or  that 
subject  at  different  stages  of  the  long  disease  of  youth. 
The  more  of  these  attempts  the  better,  provided  only 
that  we  be  on  our  guard  against  the  inherent  weak- 
nesses of  them  all.  No  one  of  them  will  take  us  very 


174  LEARNING  AND  LIVING 

far,  but  taken  together  they  will  help  to  show  how  very 
serious  a  matter  is  this  of  election  and  how  many  con- 
siderations go  to  the  making  of  a  reasonable  plan  for 
any  individual  student. 

Now,  having  thus  warned  the  reader  that  all  schemes 
of  election  of  college  studies  must  be  taken  with  great 
caution,  I  venture  to  offer  a  few  rather  more  specific 
suggestions.  And  first,  I  must  frankly  confess  that  as 
at  present  enlightened  —  or  darkened,  as  the  case  may 
be,  I  believe  in  the  traditional  classical  and  mathe- 
matical preparation  for  a  liberal  education.  I  believe 
in  it,  not  because  it  is  traditional,  nor  on  any  theoret- 
ical grounds  whatever,  but  because,  having  waited  a 
life  time  with  open  mind  for  the  coming  of  something 
better,  I  cannot  yet  perceive  what  that  something  bet- 
ter is.  I  have  vivid  memories  of  long  faculty  discus- 
sions as  one  by  one  the  defenses  of  the  old  system  were 
broken  down  and  its  citadel  invaded  by  a  horde  of  in- 
truders varying  in  intellectual  "values"  from  Elemen- 
tary Greek  to  Iron  Filing.  We  have  waited  patiently 
for  the  fruits  of  all  this  sincere  and  eager  effort,  but 
they  have  not  appeared,  and  there  are  many  signs  that 
thoughtful  men  in  every  walk  of  life  who  have  the  in- 
terests of  a  true  human  culture  at  heart  are  turning 
back  once  more  to  those  perennial  sources  of  mental 
and  spiritual  quickening,  the  ancient  literatures  of 
Greece  and  Rome. 

The  reasons  for  this  reaction  can  be  stated  very 
briefly  in  terms  of  practical  value.  These  literatures 
and  the  civilizations  they  represent  are  the  bases  of  the 
civilization  in  which  we  find  ourselves.  The  languages 


CHOICE  OF  STUDIES  IN  COLLEGE    175 

in  which  they  are  written  contain  the  roots  of  the  lan- 
guage we  speak  and  from  which  we  derive  all  our 
knowledge  of  the  written  word.  The  literature  we 
read,  the  most  precious  inheritance  of  our  race,  is  per- 
meated throughout  with  reference  to  that  classical 
world  which  has  been  its  chief  inspiration.  If  we  desire 
to  keep  ourselves  in  touch  with  the  past  for  the  benefit 
of  the  present  and  the  future  we  cannot  be  indifferent 
to  these  things.  Our  occupation  with  them  is  not  a 
matter  of  mere  idealism;  it  is  a  practical  consideration 
of  high  importance.  This  is  one  group  of  reasons  why 
the  intensive  study  of  the  classic  languages  holds  a 
quite  peculiar  position  among  possible  subjects  of 
liberal  education. 

There  is  another  group  which  has  a  more  directly 
pedagogical  bearing  upon  our  choice.  We  as  speakers 
of  English  are  almost  without  experience  in  the  use  of 
inflection  as  a  means  of  expressing  thought  through 
language.  There  is  no  way  in  which  a  comprehension 
of  the  meanings  and  the  possibilities  of  inflection  can 
so  well  be  attained  as  through  the  study  of  the  Latin 
and  Greek  and  the  translation  of  their  idiom  into  our 
own.  Further,  our  English  syntax,  flexible  and  cap- 
able of  expressing  any  desired  meaning  as  it  is,  can 
never  give  us  the  same  training  in  the  fundamental 
principles  of  all  syntax  as  can  be  gained  from  the  study 
of  the  classic  writers.  There  are,  of  course,  two  an- 
swers to  this  argument.  One  is  a  general  denial;  inflec- 
tion, we  are  told,  can  be  just  as  well  learned  from  the 
study  of  German  or  French,  and  syntax  can  be  taught 
by  a  careful  analysis  of  our  own  idiom.  The  other  an- 


176  LEARNING  AND  LIVING 

swer  is  an  "avoidance";  both  these  matters  of  inflec- 
tion and  syntax  are  nothing  but  a  sort  of  logomachy,  a 
linguistic  game,  interesting  and  amusing  to  the  pro- 
fessional player  but  of  no  educational  importance  for 
the  ordinary  candidate  for  a  liberal  degree.  Taken  to- 
gether these  objections  form  the  basis  of  the  main 
charges  against  an  intensive  pursuit  of  classical  studies 
in  school  and  college,  the  charges  of  falseness  and 
futility. 

In  reply  it  may  be  said  first,  that  the  objections  are 
not  in  themselves  sound.  It  is  only  partially  true  that 
the  principles  of  inflection  can  be  as  well  learned  from 
French  or  German  as  from  Latin  or  Greek.  The  mod- 
ern tongues  have  suffered  many  changes,  mostly  in  the 
way  of  simplification,  which  have  broken  up  the  forms 
of  classic  inflection.  I  am  not  one  of  those  who  lament 
such  changes.  On  the  contrary  I  incline  to  think  that 
the  loss  of  inflected  forms  is  more  than  compensated 
for  by  the  increased  flexibility  arising  from  the  more 
liberal  use  of  connecting  particles.  It  is  not  a  question 
of  better  or  worse,  for  every  language  is  capable  of  ex- 
pressing any  idea  which  its  habitual  users  are  capable 
of  holding.  It  is  a  question  of  educational  values,  and 
the  defenders  of  the  classic  tradition  maintain  that  an 
easy  familiarity  with  at  least  one  highly  inflected  lan- 
guage is  the  very  best  means  of  acquiring  that  com- 
mand of  verbal  expression  which  is  one  of  the  marks  of 
our  educated  man. 

As  to  the  use  of  English  for  the  study  of  syntax:  I 
believe  in  it  most  thoroughly.  I  look  back  to  the 
"analysis  of  sentences"  in  an  old-fashioned  public 


CHOICE  OF  STUDIES  IN  COLLEGE    177 

school  as  one  of  the  most  valuable  contributions  to  my 
own  "education."  Such  study  ought  to  form  a  part  of 
the  training  of  every  pupil;  but  we  are  here  concerned 
with  the  selected  minority  who  are  going  to  the  higher 
grades  of  liberal  learning  and  who,  therefore,  may 
justly  claim  the  privilege  of  going  more  deeply  into  the 
principles  which  underlie  all  practical  detail,  and  these 
principles,  so  far  as  they  relate  to  the  structure  of  lan- 
guage, are  most  effectively  to  be  studied  in  the  classic 
literatures  of  Greece  and  Rome. 

The  process  of  translation  from  an  idiom  foreign  to 
our  own  is  an  unrivalled  means  of  training  in  the  selec- 
tion of  the  right  word  and  phrase  to  express  the  precise 
shade  of  meaning  we  desire  to  convey  by  speech  or  by 
writing.  The  argument  that  translation  from  a  mod- 
ern language  answers  the  same  purpose  fails  precisely 
because  the  modern  language  more  nearly  resembles 
our  own  both  in  its  word  and  phrase  formation  and  in 
that  subtle  thing  we  can  describe  only  as  the  spirit  of 
the  language  as  a  whole.  Such  translation  is  "easier" 
and,  by  the  same  token,  is  less  educative.  Then,  as  to 
the  subject  matter:  it  ought  not  to  be  necessary  to 
point  out  the  extraordinary  opportunity  offered  by  the 
study  of  the  classic  literatures  to  introduce  the  young 
student  from  a  very  early  stage  to  ideas  of  history, 
geography,  religion,  philosophy,  and  social  science 
that  will  become  permanent  possessions.  It  is  not 
wholly  without  reason  that  some  enthusiastic  souls 
have  described  philology  as  the  universal  science. 

Here  again  there  are  two  answers.  One  is,  that  all 
these  subjects  are  equally  suggested  by  the  study  of 


178  LEARNING  AND  LIVING 

modern  languages  or,  even  without  this,  by  intensive 
occupation  with  our  own  unrivalled  literature.  We 
reply  that  after  all,  these  modern  literatures  are  only 
the  echoes  of  the  great  originals  and  that  the  specific 
mark  of  the  truly  educated  man  is  that  he  has  gone 
back  to  the  originals  in  whatever  field  of  study  he  may 
have  worked.  The  "general  reader"  must  perforce  be 
satisfied  with  the  echoes;  the  liberally  educated  man 
must  demand  something  more.  The  second  answer  is, 
that  not  one  in  a  hundred  of  the  youths  who  have 
spent  precious  years  in  the  study  of  Greek  and  Latin 
have  gained  thereby  any  appreciable  knowledge  in  any 
of  the  subjects  we  have  named.  I  wish  there  were  a 
better  reply  to  this  answer.  It  is  far  too  lamentably 
true;  but  it  misses  the  whole  point  of  the  present  con- 
tention. The  reason  why  classical  teaching  has  so 
largely  failed  to  leave  on  our  youth  the  kind  of  impres- 
sion that  would  cause  them  to  rally  to  its  defense 
against  all  attack  has  been  that  it  was  such  incredibly 
bad  teaching.  For  the  contempt  into  which  it  has  fal- 
len classical  teachers  have  mainly  themselves  to  thank. 
The  question  of  its  permanent  value  in  a  scheme  of 
liberal  education  is  not  thereby  affected  at  all. 

In  a  recent  conversation  with  a  college  graduate, 
now  the  father  of  college  graduates,  he  grew  positively 
enthusiastic  over  one  of  his  classical  teachers.  This 
teacher  was  a  proverbially  dull  and  uninspiring  person, 
and  I  was  naturally  curious  to  find  out  the  cause  of  my 
friend's  enthusiasm.  It  appeared,  on  inquiry,  that  this 
teacher  had  actually  required  his  pupils  to  write  a 
considerable  quantity  of  Latin,  and  the  grip  on  the 


CHOICE  OF  STUDIES  IN  COLLEGE    179 

language  thus  acquired  proved  a  source  of  lasting  grati- 
tude to  this  appreciative  pupil.  It  caused  him  to  single 
out  this  man  from  the  rest  of  his  teachers  as  uncom- 
monly gifted  with  teaching  power.  Now  here  was  one 
of  the  most  elementary  of  pedagogic  principles.  To 
learn  a  language  the  only  way  is  to  use  it,  and  there  is 
no  way  of  using  it  so  effective  as  to  write  it.  And  yet, 
so  utterly  bad  had  all  this  pupil's  other  teaching  been, 
that  this  perfectly  simple  act  of  common  sense  seemed 
to  him  a  positive  stroke  of  genius. 

My  friend's  experience  is  characteristic  of  American 
classical  teaching  during  more  than  two  generations. 
It  has  hardly  been  teaching  at  all.  It  has  been  a  stupid 
patching  together  of  words  and  phrases  to  illustrate 
rules  of  grammar;  a  shocking  waste  of  time,  ruinous  to 
real  scholarly  ambition,  depressing  where  it  ought  to 
have  been  stimulating.  To  make  a  bad  matter  worse 
floods  of  annotated  editions  with  skilfully  limited 
"glossaries"  have  been  poured  upon  the  market. 
Designed  to  sugar  the  pill,  they  have  deprived  it  of  all 
its  beneficial  qualities.  Honestly  intended  to  rescue 
classical  study  from  total  neglect,  they  have  done  more 
than  everything  else  to  bring  it  into  disrepute.  They 
have  contributed  more  than  their  share  to  the  worst 
trait  of  the  modern  pupil,  the  inability  to  sit  down 
alone  to  a  hard  job  and  put  it  through  to  the  end.  It  is 
no  wonder  that  under  such  conditions  classical  study 
should  have  seemed  to  the  "practical"  mind  little 
more  than  a  game,  amusing  to  the  "coaches,"  but 
hopelessly  dull  and  uninteresting  to  the  players. 

A  young  German  studying  in  a  professional  school  of 


i8o  LEARNING  AND  LIVING 

one  of  our  most  important  universities  was  asked  to 
give  his  impressions  of  his  fellow-students.  He  replied: 
"They  are  the  hardest  working  fellows  I  have  ever 
seen,  but  they  don't  know  anything.  What  in  the 
world  were  they  doing  with  themselves  between  the 
ages  of  six  and  twenty?"  What  he  meant  was  that  the 
tools  of  their  trade  which  should  have  been  sharpened 
and  tempered  in  those  years  were  still  dull  and  soft. 
They  had  studied  the  classics,  but  they  could  not  read 
them.  They  had  "taken  courses"  in  modern  lan- 
guages, but  they  could  not  handle  them.  In  one  word, 
they  had  never  been  trained  to  do  anything  so  well 
that  it  had  become  a  part  of  their  intellectual  equip- 
ment, ready  to  serve  them  whenever  called  upon.  It  is 
only  in  the  faith  that  these  defects  in  our  American 
teaching  are  going  to  be  measurably  corrected  that  any 
one  could  have  the  courage  to  give  advice  to  the  youths 
who  are  coming  on  in  our  schools  and  beginning  to 
cast  about  them  for  help  in  the  puzzling  work  of  college 
elections. 

The  old  phrase  was  "classics  and  mathematics," 
and  it  used  always  to  be  said  that  the  man  who  was 
good  at  the  one  was  likely  to  be  good  at  the  other  also. 
The  disciplinary  value  of  mathematics  has  been  as 
stoutly  defended  and  as  bitterly  attacked  as  that  of  the 
classic  languages.  To  defend  mathematics  beyond 
arithmetic,  algebra  and  the  elements  of  geometry,  on 
the  score  of  practical  utility  would  be  an  idle  waste  of 
words.  Every  one  knows  that  the  immense  majority 
of  educated  men  get  on  very  comfortably  without 
them.  It  is  only  as  discipline  in  the  highest  sense  of 


CHOICE  OF  STUDIES  IN  COLLEGE    181 

that  much  abused  word,  that  a  further  occupation 
with  mathematical  studies  can  be  urged. 

In  our  plan  of  studies  for  the  normal  college  youth 
mathematics  would  take  a  considerable  place,  and  that 
for  two  apparently  directly  opposed  reasons.  The  first 
of  these  is  the  obvious  one  that  no  other  subject  so 
directly  conduces  to  absolute  correctness  of  process, 
accuracy  of  statement,  and  certainty  of  result.  No 
other  holds  the  mind  so  rigidly  to  rules  and  so  com- 
pletely excludes  any  deviation  from  them.  No  other 
process  offers  so  useful  a  corrective  to  the  habit  of 
desultory  thinking.  The  second  reason,  strange  as  this 
may  sound,  is  that  mathematics  tend  to  stimulate  the 
imaginative  faculties.  Mathematical  science  is  the 
most  completely  removed  from  the  material  realities  of 
things.  Two  and  two  would  make  four  even  were  there 
no  objects  to  be  added,  and  so  it  goes  on.  The  study  of 
mathematics  is  as  purely  idealistic  a  pursuit  as  the 
human  mind  is  capable  of,  and  surely,  if  there  is  any 
one  thing  which  a  liberal  education  should  cultivate 
more  than  any  other  it  is  the  capacity  for  a  sound  and 
rational  idealism. 

By  imagination  we  do  not  mean  idle  fancy,  the  loose 
imagining  of  vain  things.  We  mean  the  power  of  rep- 
resenting to  ourselves  unseen  realities,  of  projecting 
ourselves  into  the  world  of  possible,  if  unrealized  expe- 
riences. This  is  eminently  a  constructive  process.  It  is 
the  method  of  the  creative  artist,  in  whatever  field  he 
may  exercise  his  imaginative  powers.  It  is  the  method 
also  of  the  highest  science  working  through  the  patient 
stages  of  minute  experiment  toward  a  goal  set  by  the 


182  LEARNING  AND  LIVING 

disciplined  imagination.  So  I  would  say  to  the  college 
youth:  plan  to  go  as  far  in  pure  mathematics  as  you  can 
without  doing  violence  to  other  subjects.  Here,  of 
course,  as  everywhere  else  it  is  a  matter  of  proportion, 
and  no  rule  could  wisely  be  applied  in  all  cases.  I 
would  only  urge  that  no  one  let  himself  be  cheated  out 
of  this  valuable  discipline  by  its  apparent  difficulty  or 
its  general  unpopularity. 

Passing  to  a  group  of  subjects  in  which  the  factor  of 
information  rather  than  the  factor  of  discipline  is  of 
primary  importance,  I  should  recommend  to  every  stu- 
dent to  acquire  the  elements  of  economic  theory  as  the 
only  sound  basis  of  approach  to  those  great  economic 
questions  which  must  play  so  large  a  part  in  the 
thought  of  all  intelligent  men  about  public  affairs.  The 
intensive  study  of  some  decisive  period  of  the  world's 
history  ought  to  be  of  service  as  a  supplement  to  the 
rapid  surveys  which  the  pupil  brings  from  his  school  or 
perhaps  gains  in  one  of  the  early  college  years.  It 
would  be  a  pity  if  any  youth  should  lose  the  oppor- 
tunity of  his  college  days  to  acquire  some  familiarity 
with  the  principles  of  formal  logic  and  at  least  a  nod- 
ding acquaintance  with  the  history  of  the  attempts  of 
mankind  to  explain  the  phenomena  of  the  universe  by 
philosophic  systems.  An  intensive  pursuit,  however 
brief,  of  some  branch  of  experimental  science  may  leave 
with  the  man  a  precious  deposit  of  ideas  that  will  be 
fruitful  in  unsuspected  ways  as  long  as  he  lives. 

There  remain  the  subjects  forming  the  group  of  mod- 
ern languages  and  literatures,  including  English,  and 
there  is  no  group  more  puzzling  to  the  adviser.  It 


CHOICE  OF  STUDIES  IN  COLLEGE    183 

seems  almost  axiomatic  that  the  American  youth 
should  be  especially  attracted  to  these  pursuits  and 
should  go  as  far  in  them  as  he  can.  Especially  does  it 
seem  as  if  the  study  of  English,  both  as  language  and 
literature,  ought  to  occupy  a  large  share  of  his  atten- 
tion. Following  this  natural  indication  our  American 
colleges  have  worked  out  plans  of  instruction  that  have 
grown  to  almost  threatening  dimensions.  The  puzzle 
in  this  part  of  the  adviser's  task  comes  from  a  conflict 
of  ideas  that  often  proves  insoluble.  On  the  one  side  is 
the  great  educative  value  of  a  knowledge  of  foreign 
languages,  which  no  one  denies,  while  on  the  other  side 
is  the  equally  undeniable  fact  that  the  conditions  of 
study  in  college  are  extremely  unfavorable  to  acquiring 
this  knowledge.  In  the  learning  of  a  language  there  are 
four  processes,  reading,  writing,  speaking,  and  under- 
standing. Of  these  the  last  two  are  the  most  important 
in  gaining  a  complete  mastery,  but  it  is  precisely  these 
two  that  cannot  be  taught  in  large  classes  and  within 
the  limitations  of  time  inevitable  in  a  college  program. 
The  most  that  can  be  done  for  the  ordinary  student  is 
to  help  him  to  acquire  a  fair  start  at  reading  and  a  fair 
amount  of  skill  in  the  composition  of  very  simple  nar- 
rative forms. 

Is  it  worth  while  for  the  student  to  sacrifice  much  of 
the  time  that  could  be  spent  on  subjects  which  can  be 
well  taught  in  college  to  the  slight  results  that  can  be 
expected  in  the  modern  languages  ?  One  of  these  lan- 
guages he  will,  as  the  saying  is,  "bring  with  him"  to 
college.  That  means  that  he  has  made  a  beginning, 
probably  a  bad  beginning,  but  at  least  he  has  some- 


184  LEARNING  AND  LIVING 

thing  to  start  with,  and  I  venture  to  suggest  that  for 
the  moment  he  be  satisfied  with  this.  One  other  lan- 
guage he  must  then,  if  he  is  to  acquire  it  at  all,  begin  in 
college,  and  this  he  ought  to  do,  unfavorable  as  the 
conditions  are.  Beyond  this,  however,  I  do  not  advise 
him  to  go  in  "  taking  courses,"  but  there  are  three  other 
ways  in  which  he  can  go  far  towards  accomplishing  the 
very  desirable  end  of  a  real  command  of  a  language 
other  than  his  own. 

The  first  is  by  running  over  to  Europe  for  a  long 
summer,  going  alone  to  some  place  where  he  will  never 
see  an  English  speaking  person  and  there,  with  the 
help  of  a  local  school  teacher  to  correct  his  exercises 
and  talk  with  him  and  introduce  him  to  other  persons, 
spend  his  time  in  endless  reading  of  pleasant  books, 
translating  systematically  English  into  French  or 
whatever  the  language  may  be,  making  all  the  ac- 
quaintances he  can  and  compelling  every  one  he  meets 
to  give  him  a  lesson  in  understanding  —  not  forgetting 
to  go  to  the  theatre  every  evening  and  to  church  every 
Sunday.  In  default  of  the  opportunity  to  do  this  very 
pleasant  thing,  the  next  device  is  to  devote  one  or  two 
long  vacations  at  home  to  such  parts  of  the  above  pro- 
gram as  may  be  accomplished  here.  That  means  read- 
ing foreign  books,  the  lighter  and  more  amusing  the 
better,  without  much  attention  to  the  meanings  of  new 
words  or  to  strange  constructions.  In  addition  to  this, 
however,  the  reading  of  some  one  book  with  the  great- 
est care,  looking  up  all  words  and  working  out  all 
puzzles  of  syntax.  The  youth  who  has  not  tried  it 
will  be  amazed  to  find  how  rapidly  the  difficulties  will 


CHOICE  OF  STUDIES  IN  COLLEGE    185 

smooth  themselves  out  and  how  soon  he  will  begin  to 
feel  the  sense  of  mastery  which  is  the  greatest  joy  of  all 
learning. 

I  suggest  these  summer  occupations  because  in  fact 
almost  every  self-respecting  student  nowadays  plans 
to  devote  his  summers  to  some  kind  of  work  which 
shall  forward  the  purpose  he  has  in  mind  in  his  scheme 
of  life.  The  "summer  loafer"  is  out  of  date.  To  gain  a 
language  by  the  process  I  have  indicated  is  to  add  a 
tool  to  one's  equipment  for  all  future  study  and  to 
open  a  delightful  entrance  into  the  charms  of  a  litera- 
ture that  will  be  a  permanent  possession. 

The  third  method  is  to  make  use  of  whatever  ele- 
ments of  a  foreign  language  the  student  possesses  in 
the  study  of  other  subjects  in  college.  There  are  few  if 
any  departments  in  which  books  in  the  foreign  lan- 
guage cannot  readily  be  recommended,  and  in  many 
departments  such  books  are  distinctly  better  than 
those  available  in  English.  The  obvious  objection  to 
this  practice  is  the  apparently  great  increase  of  time  it 
demands,  but  this  objection  is  rather  apparent  than 
real.  The  actual  time  spent  over  the  book  is  un- 
doubtedly greater  than  an  English  book  would  require, 
but  taking  into  account  the  long  result,  remembering 
that  one  is  acquiring  two  subjects  at  once,  and  acquir- 
ing the  language  in  the  very  best  possible  way,  it  may 
well  appear  that  instead  of  a  waste  there  is  a  positive 
saving  of  time  in  this  method.  By  applying  it  succes- 
sively or  at  the  same  time  to  several  subjects  the  vo- 
cabulary becomes  widened,  while  the  forms  common  to 
all  writing  in  the  given  language  are  impressed  upon 


1 86  LEARNING  AND  LIVING 

the  mind  as  is  possible  in  no  other  way.  The  strain 
upon  the  student's  persistence  at  the  beginning  is 
great,  but  it  is  sure  to  be  well  rewarded  by  notable 
gains,  not  merely  in  subjects,  but  in  that  supreme 
virtue  of  the  student,  academic  character. 

So  we  come  finally  to  "English."  The  most  persist- 
ent and  influential  advocate  of  a  free  elective  system  in 
this  country  always  said  that  there  was  but  one  sub- 
ject which  every  student  should  be  required  to  pursue, 
and  that  was  the  study  of  English.  As  to  the  supreme 
importance  of  a  right  use  of  one's  native  tongue  and  a 
vital  acquaintance  with  its  best  literature  there  is  no 
disagreement  among  persons  qualified  to  have  an 
opinion.  The  only  difference  is  as  to  the  method  by 
which  these  desirable  ends  are  to  be  reached,  and  this 
difference  is  very  wide.  It  may,  perhaps,  best  be  ex- 
pressed by  using  for  the  view  of  one  side  the  phrase  so 
popular  to-day  in  other  connections,  "direct  action." 
The  logic  of  this  party  is  that  if  a  thing  is  desirable  in 
education  the  way  to  get  it  is  to  put  it  on  school  and 
college  programs,  give  it  plenty  of  "time"  and  the 
thing  is  done.  In  pursuance  of  this  notion  our  depart- 
ments of  English  have  grown  in  a  way  that  I  have  al- 
ready characterized  as  threatening.  Our  educators 
"point  with  pride"  to  the  proportion  of  the  time  allot- 
ment in  English,  and  we  are  left  to  assume  that  the  re- 
sults are  justifying  the  expenditure  of  energy. 

Now,  of  course,  we  are  not  speaking  here  at  all  of  the 
vast  problem  of  dealing  with  the  hordes  of  foreigners 
whom  we  are  trying  with,  all  things  considered,  amaz- 
ing success  to  assimilate  to  our  public  institutions  and 


CHOICE  OF  STUDIES  IN  COLLEGE    187 

to  our  habits  of  thought.  In  that  endeavor  all  meth- 
ods, direct  and  indirect,  may  find  their  justification, 
but  all  that  lies  outside  the  question  of  wise  educa- 
tional theory.  The  real  question  to-day  is:  have  these 
enormous  outlays  of  effort  so  far  produced  anything 
like  a  corresponding  increase  in  refinement  in  the 
American  speech,  of  correctness  —  if  there  be  such  a 
thing  —  in  American  writing  and  of  elevation  in  the 
American  taste  for  literature?  I  am  not  proposing  to 
answer  this  question.  I  prefer  to  leave  it  to  the  con- 
science of  those  who  are  responsible  for  the  immediate 
future  of  our  academic  programs.  Upon  its  answer 
must  depend  their  view  of  what  is  desirable  in  framing 
new  and,  it  is  to  be  hoped,  more  efficient  policies. 

The  view  of  the  opposite  party  may  be  illustrated  by 
the  comments  of  learned  Englishmen.  Again  and  again 
such  visitors  to  America,  studying  our  educational 
methods  have  expressed  themselves  as  completely 
puzzled  by  our  practice  in  this  matter  of  instruction  in 
English.  "Why  all  this  fuss  about  so  simple  a  mat- 
ter?" they  have  said.  "At  home  we  assume  that  an 
educated  youth  learns  to  speak  and  write  his  native 
tongue  by  hearing  the  speech  of  cultivated  people  and 
reading  the  books  of  the  masters  of  English  style.  It  is 
this  reading  that  gives  him  the  acquaintance  with 
literature  which,  we  agree  with  you,  is  essential  to  his 
education.  He  must,  of  course,  have  some  systematic 
instruction  in  his  early  years,  but  after  that  it  would 
seem  to  us  an  absurdity  to  require  him  to  sacrifice  any 
considerable  part  of  his  academic  time  to  an  exercise  in 
which,  after  all,  teaching  can  do  so  little  for  him.  Why 


1 88  LEARNING  AND  LIVING 

all  this  machinery  of  'courses'  in  composition?  Why 
these  prolonged  and  elaborate  lectures  on  literature? 
There  are  the  masterpieces;  why  not  let  the  youth  read 
them  in  the  only  way  in  which  they  can  ever  do  him  the 
least  good,  as  the  best  form  of  diversion  from  his  more 
serious  interests?  If  he  enjoys  them  he  will  certainly 
read  them,  and  if  he  does  not  enjoy  them  they  will  be 
of  no  mortal  use  to  him.  And  as  to  composition,  we 
give  our  youths  ample  opportunity  for  the  improve- 
ment of  their  style  in  the  abundant  use  we  make  of 
written  work  in  the  regular  processes  of  instruction  in 
all  our  subjects.  We  think  of  all  our  college  teachers  as 
competent  to  supply  such  correction  as  will  suffice, 
without  providing  a  special  corps  of  tutors  in  English." 
Here  is  at  once  a  criticism  and  a  program.  I  cite  it 
only  to  justify  my  own  feeling  that  the  principle  it 
embodies  is  a  sound  one.  The  few  rules  of  English 
composition  ought  to  have  been  made  a  part  of  the  stu- 
dent's intellectual  equipment  long  before  he  reaches  the 
college  age.  He  will  be  far  from  perfect  in  their  applica- 
tion, as  we  all  are  and  remain,  so  long  as  we  live;  but 
the  correction  of  his  most  glaring  defects  can  be  most 
effectually  made  in  connection  with  the  written  work 
which  he  ought,  on  sound  pedagogical  principles,  to  do 
as  a  part  of  his  regular  educative  process.  As  to  litera- 
ture: the  important  thing,  it  seems  to  me,  is  not  that  he 
shall  have  read  so  many  plays  of  Shakespeare,  but  that 
at  some  stage  of  his  school  life,  he  shall  have  been  so 
caught  up  and  taken  out  of  himself  by  the  incommuni- 
cable charm  of  Shakespeare  that  he  will  steal  time  from 
every  duty  to  wander  in  the  forest  of  Arden,  or  pace  the 


CHOICE  OF  STUDIES  IN  COLLEGE    189 

Rialto,  or  sail  to  Aleppo  with  a  crew  of  tailless  rats,  or 
watch  the  waves  breaking  on  the  coast  of  Bohemia. 
If  literature  does  not  mean  that  to  a  man,  it  means 
nothing.  The  youth  who  is  once  brought  to  the  pass  of 
saying:  "I've  got  to  read  three  cantos  of  Paradise  Lost 
before  ten  o'clock  to-morrow,"  is  well  embarked  on  the 
road  toward  a  hatred  of  all  literature  for  the  rest  of  his 
life. 

Of  course,  in  all  that  is  here  said  there  is  no  reference 
whatever  to  the  professional,  linguistic  pursuit  of  lan- 
guage studies.  For  the  student  in  these  there  must  be 
as  careful,  analytical  work  as  for  the  student  in  the 
classics  or  in  any  other  branch  of  science.  We  are  deal- 
ing here  with  the  ordinary  student  in  the  liberal  arts. 

So  far  we  have  been  concerned  with  those  principles 
of  choice  in  academic  study  which  refer  to  the  nature 
of  the  subjects  to  be  pursued.  There  is  reason  for  this 
in  the  fact  that  most  of  the  discussions  about  election 
turn  upon  this  point.  It  is  seldom  that  the  attention  of 
the  student  is  called  to  other  considerations.  If  one 
could  "listen  in"  on  the  conversations  of  advisers  with 
their  victims,  one  would  be  sure  to  hear  chiefly  a  com- 
bat of  words  about  whether  this  or  that  subject  should 
be  "taken"  at  this  or  that  stage  of  the  game,  in  what 
doses  and  with  what  probable  effect  upon  the  symp- 
toms in  the  given  case.  Such  questions  are  important, 
but  I  venture  to  believe  that  back  of  them  all  lie  cer- 
tain other  principles  which  ought,  with  due  regard  to 
proportion,  to  enter  into  the  final  decision. 

At  the  risk  of  seeming  pedantic,  or  even  scientifically 
pedagogical,  I  should  like  to  suggest  certain  distinc- 


1 9o  LEARNING  AND  LIVING 

tions  of  intellectual  process  which  go  rather  deeply 
beneath  the  surface  of  all  education  and  which  ought, 
I  think,  to  influence  the  student  in  his  election  of  work. 
It  is  practically  true  that  intellectual  work  may  be 
classified  under  three  heads:  acquisition,  interpreta- 
tion, and  production.  Many  other  terms  might  be 
used  but  let  these  suffice  for  the  moment.  In  general 
these  three  processes  should  go  on  in  the  order  named. 
First  there  must  be  a  solid  body  of  acquired  knowledge, 
call  it  even,  if  one  please,  by  the  opprobrious  term 
"information."  Only  after  such  a  foundation  of  knowl- 
edge has  been  acquired  can  the  mind  healthfully  go  on 
to  the  process  of  trying  to  understand  what  one  has 
learned.  And  then  again,  only  when  this  process  of 
understanding  has  made  some  notable  progress  can 
the  third  step  of  original  production  profitably  be 
taken. 

Further,  there  is  a  rational  correspondence  between 
these  stages  of  intellectual  effort  and  the  normal  de- 
velopment of  the  human  being.  Childhood,  youth, 
and  manhood  are  but  so  many  names  for  the  develop- 
ment of  the  human  faculties  from  the  stage  of  acquisi- 
tion, through  the  stage  of  understanding  to  the  last 
stage  of  creative  production.  We  all  know  this.  The 
child  acquires  knowledge  with  amazing  rapidity  and 
retains  it  with  a  tenacity  incredible  to  his  own  later 
years.  The  youth  becomes  impatient  with  the  acquisi- 
tive process  and  demands  explanation  of  the  puzzles  of 
the  universe.  The  growing  man  feels  within  him  the 
impulse  to  apply  his  learning  and  his  understanding  to 
the  creation  of  something  new.  Perfectly  simple  —  so 


CHOICE  OF  STUDIES  IN  COLLEGE    191 

simple  that  in  fact  it  has  been  the  basis  of  sound  edu- 
cational theory  from  the  beginning. 

Unhappily  there  has  been  in  recent  years,  and  no- 
tably in  our  country,  an  increasing  impatience  with  so 
self-evident  a  formula.  Largely  under  the  influence  of 
imperfectly  educated,  one-idead,  self-heralded  educa- 
tional prophets  and  prophetesses  the  lines  between 
these  obvious  stages,  both  of  individual  development 
and  educative  effort  have  been  almost  hopelessly  ob- 
scured. The  child,  we  have  been  told,  must  not  be 
compelled  to  learn  things  he  cannot  understand.  The 
youth  must  not  be  held  back  by  the  super-imposed 
interpretations  of  other  persons,  but  must  be  left  free 
to  form  his  own  conclusions  and  encouraged  to  proceed 
to  creative  activity.  We  must  not  lean  too  heavily 
upon  memory,  but  must  let  thought  do  its  work.  Crea- 
tive instinct  is  observable  in  the  infant  and  ought  not 
to  be  checked  in  its  free  exercise.  "Systems"  based 
upon  these  "new"  revelations  have  been  launched 
upon  a  credulous  world  and  have  run  their  pernicious 
course  leaving  the  wrecks  of  sound  education  behind 
them. 

The  worst  thing  about  these  educational  nostrums 
is  that  they  contain  many  elements  of  truth.  It  is  true 
that  the  lines  of  demarcation  we  have  tried  to  draw  do 
vary  greatly  with  individual  character  and  endow- 
ment. There  are  men  who  never  pass  out  of  the  stage 
of  intellectual  infancy.  There  are  infants  who  display 
the  highest  qualities  of  mature  manhood.  And  all  the 
way  between  there  are  gradations  of  aptitude  that 
seem  to  justify  almost  any  theories  of  progression. 


192  LEARNING  AND  LIVING 

But,  after  all  allowances  for  such  exceptional  cases 
have  been  made,  there  remains  the  solid  fact  that  in 
general  the  best  order  of  procedure  in  methods  of 
study  runs  parallel  with  the  progress  of  the  individual 
in  growth.  This  does  not  mean  that  up  to  a  certain 
point  the  pupil  should  be  required  to  do  nothing  but 
acquire  knowledge,  then  should  do  nothing  but  inter- 
pret, and  finally  should  confine  himself  entirely  to 
"original  work."  It  means  that  up  to  the  age,  say  of 
fourteen,  he  should  take  advantage  of  the  special  apti- 
tudes that  belong  to  that  age  by  piling  in  solidly  those 
stores  of  elementary  knowledge  which  will  become  the 
most  precious  possession  of  his  maturer  years.  At  the 
same  time  his  worth-while  demands  —  and  no  others — 
for  explanation  of  what  he  learns  should  be  rationally 
met,  and  if  he  happens  to  "create"  something  his 
sport  in  this  direction  should  not  be  too  contemp- 
tuously checked.  After  this  stage  the  proportion  of 
acquisition  may  be  somewhat  diminished  and  that  of 
understanding  and  of  production  somewhat  increased. 
In  the  third  stage,  this  shifting  of  proportions  may  be 
carried  still  further.  In  other  words,  in  each  period  all 
three  methods  may  be  employed,  but  with  greatly 
varying  emphasis. 

The  bearing  of  all  this  on  the  student's  choice  of 
studies  in  college  is  that  he  ought  to  govern  himself 
pretty  rigidly  by  the  principle  here  set  forth.  In  col- 
lege also  he  will  encounter  the  elements  of  many  sub- 
jects and  in  such  elementary  study  he  will  find  himself 
in  the  infant  class  again.  It  will  be  his  duty  to  sit  down 
hard  to  the  process  of  acquisition  and  to  call  upon  his 


CHOICE  OF  STUDIES  IN  COLLEGE    193 

memory  to  work  for  him  as  it  did  in  his  childhood. 
Elsewhere  he  will  be  in  the  stage  of  interpretation  and 
may  properly  try  his  wings  in  wider  flights  of  independ- 
ent thought.  And  then  there  will  come  a  time  when  the 
best  thing  he  can  do  with  the  greater  part  of  his  time 
is  greatly  to  reduce  the  amount  spent  on  acquisition,  to 
suspend  temporarily  his  conscious  effort  to  interpret, 
and  devote  himself  primarily  to  practice  in  the  use  of 
original  materials  and  the  production  of  what  we  like 
to  call  —  it  is  to  be  hoped  with  becoming  modesty  — 
"contributions  to  learning." 

Ordinarily  this  progression  will  best  coincide  with 
the  progress  of  his  academic  years  and  his  own  growth 
in  maturity,  but  on  this  point  there  is  room  for  a  great 
deal  of  leeway,  and  wise  advisers  will  take  advantage 
of  this.  The  only  caution  I  care  to  emphasize  is  that 
the  program  be  not  a  top-heavy  one.  Too  early  pro- 
duction, too  much  weight  on  understanding,  and  too 
little  care  for  the  foundations,  these  are  the  dangers  to 
which  the  youth  of  the  present  day  is  especially  liable. 
The  melancholy  effects  of  this  misplaced  emphasis  are 
visible  throughout  our  academic  world  and  are  having 
their  inevitable  reactions  upon  the  larger  world  of 
business  and  the  professions. 

That  is  one  of  the  general  principles  which  may  prop- 
erly influence  the  student's  choice.  Another  is  that  he 
should  select  his  work  with  due  regard  to  the  question 
of  how  far  the  teacher  is  likely  to  be  a  help  to  him, 
and  how  far  he  must  rely  upon  himself  alone.  For  ex- 
ample, what  can  a  teacher  do  for  the  student  of  a  mod- 
ern language  under  the  necessary  conditions  of  college 


i94  LEARNING  AND  LIVING 

teaching?  Next  to  nothing.  If  he  has  a  theory  as  to 
how  a  language  must  be  taught,  he  will  certainly  prove 
more  of  a  hindrance  than  a  help.  If,  as  most  teachers 
do,  he  leads  the  pupil  to  think  that  he  is  going  to  "do 
something"  for  him,  to  that  extent  he  dulls  the  edge  of 
the  personal  enthusiasm  which  is  essential  to  success. 
I  quite  realize  that  it  is  difficult  for  the  youth  to  apply 
this  principle,  but  his  advisers  may  at  least  remind  him 
of  it.  They  may  help  to  save  him  from  the  waste  of 
time  involved  in  listening  to  class-room  futilities  when 
he  might  be  spending  it  upon  subjects  in  which  the 
help  of  the  teacher  is  indispensable. 

This  is  the  high  privilege  of  the  college  years,  the 
presence  of  men  devoted  to  learning  and  anxious  to  do 
what  they  can  to  bring  its  contents  and  its  methods  to 
the  youths  before  them.  And  this  leads  us  naturally  to 
a  final  consideration:  that  the  student  should  govern  his 
choice  of  studies  largely  by  the  quality  of  the  men  with 
whom  it  will  bring  him  into  contact.  We  Americans 
are  singularly  indifferent  to  this  whole  element  of  per- 
sonality in  education.  So  far  as  we  think  about  it  at  all 
we  are  apt  to  stop  with  those  executive  officials  whose 
names  recur  with  fatal  frequency  in  the  newspapers  or 
with  those  picturesque  figures  among  the  teaching  staff 
who  attract  attention  by  other  gifts  than  those  be- 
longing to  the  scholarly  character.  We  send  our  sons 
to  the  college  of  their  choice  and  expect  the  college  to 
do  the  rest.  It  is  the  institution  that  impresses  us,  not 
the  persons  who  give  the  institution  all  the  quality 
it  has. 


CHOICE  OF  STUDIES  IN  COLLEGE    195 

And  yet,  no  man  has  ever  gone  through  the  expe- 
riences of  college  life  with  open  eyes  and  open  mind 
who  does  not  know  that  the  most  powerful  influence 
brought  to  bear  upon  him  in  those  plastic  years  is  the 
silent  force  of  character  in  the  men  who  have  been  his 
guides.  Perhaps  he  learns  this  too  late.  While  the 
process  is  going  on  the  institution  with  its  hundred 
appeals  obscures  the  individual.  The  teacher  is  apt  to 
appear  to  him  but  a  cog  in  the  great  machine  that  is 
expected  to  turn  him  out  as  a  part  of  its  finished  prod- 
uct. It  may  be  half  a  lifetime  later  before  he  discovers 
the  hidden  threads  that  bind  up  his  present  life  of  ac- 
tion with  those  distant  years  of  preparation.  Happy 
the  teacher  who  hears  from  such  a  pupil  the  acknowl- 
edgment of  his  personal  obligation  to  lighten  the 
shadows  and  sweeten  the  memories  of  advancing  age! 


TRAVEL  AS  EDUCATION 

IT  was  my  great  good  fortune,  while  still  a  very 
young  man,  to  listen  to  the  inaugural  address  of 
Mr.  Charles  William  Eliot  as  President  of  Harvard 
College.  He  said  a  great  many  wise  and  useful  things, 
most  of  them  far  beyond  the  capacity  of  an  average 
undergraduate  to  understand,  still  less  to  appreciate  at 
their  true  value.  There  was,  however,  one  phrase, 
which  he  used  quite  casually,  that  impressed  itself  on 
my  mind  so  that  I  never  forgot  it.  It  was  this : " Travel, 
that  foolish  beginning  and  excellent  sequel  to  educa- 
tion." The  reason  why  I  was  thus  impressed  was,  I 
suppose,  because  my  thoughts  were  already  beginning 
to  turn  to  the  possibilities  of  European  travel.  My 
studies,  pursued  no  more  seriously  than  those  of  other 
undergraduates,  were  pointing  to  Europe  as  a  won- 
derland, where  the  record  of  human  life,  as  we  were 
reading  it  in  books,  was  to  be  seen  in  visible  form  in 
buildings,  in  paintings,  in  sculpture  and  monument, 
and  where  the  background  of  all  this  life  was  to  be 
studied  in  landscape,  in  mountain,  in  river  and  in 
storied  field.  The  allurement  of  this  early  dream  con- 
tinued, and  in  due  time  was  realized.  Travel,  begun 
as  education,  became  a  professional  duty,  and  much 
experience  and  observation  convinced  me  of  the  abso- 
lute truth  of  Mr.  Eliot's  chance  remark.  One  can 
hardly  do  a  worse  thing  for  a  boy  than  to  drag  him 
about  Europe  before  he  has  gained  all  there  is  to  be 
gained  by  study  and  normal  living  at  home,  and  there 

197 


198  LEARNING  AND  LIVING 

can  hardly  be  a  better  thing  for  a  youth  thus  prepared 
and  with  his  mind  awake  to  historical  and  aesthetic 
perceptions,  than  to  give  him  the  opportunity  of 
intelligent  travel. 

Three  hundred  years  earlier,  another  wise  and  genial 
counsellor,  Francis  Bacon,  had  written:  "Travel  in  the 
younger  sort  is  a  part  of  education,  in  the  elder  a  part 
of  experience."  Starting,  then,  with  the  judgment  of 
such  excellent  advisors,  it  may  well  seem  worth  while 
to  consider  frankly  some  of  the  advantages  and  some 
of  the  disadvantages  of  travel  as  an  educational  instru- 
ment. Let  us  ask  ourselves  first  of  all  just  what  we 
mean  by  travel.  We  speak  lightly  of  our  time  as  a 
travelling  age.  Questions  of  transportation  engage  the 
attention  and  affect  the  lives  of  a  very  large  proportion 
of  our  populations.  It  is  probably  true  that  more  in- 
dividuals change  their  place  to-day  than  at  any  time 
before  the  application  of  steam  to  the  movement  of 
persons  and  goods.  But,  in  the  sense  in  which  we  are 
now  using  the  word,  is  it  true  that  there  is  more  travel  ? 
We  go  with  amazing  rapidity  and  with  a  self-com- 
placency still  more  amazing,  from  one  end  of  the  earth 
to  the  other.  We  are,  as  it  were,  shot  through  thou- 
sands of  miles  of  space,  and  in  that  transition  we  are  as 
indifferent  to  all  intervening  obstacles  as  if  we  were 
encased  in  walls  of  steel  instead  of  the  barbaric  splen- 
dors of  the  Pullman  car.  Vast  corporations  have  been 
organized,  whose  whole  function  it  is  to  operate  this 
system  of  projectiles,  in  which  the  artillery  is  the  rail- 
road, the  steamship,  or  the  airplane,  and  the  missiles 
are  human  beings. 


TRAVEL  AS  EDUCATION  199 

And  now  the  automobile,  that  demon  of  modern 
society,  is  added  to  the  list,  the  most  penetrating  and 
the  most  demoralizing  of  all,  because  it  reaches  down 
deepest  into  social  strata  which  can  least  bear  the 
strain  of  the  spirit  it  represents.  The  "automobile 
spirit,"  the  spirit  of  reckless  haste,  of  carelessness  about 
detail,  of  mere  desire  to  "get  there,"  of  indifference  to 
the  rights  of  others,  of  blindness  to  that  which  is  near- 
est. "What  was  that  we  passed  just  now?"  says  the 
owner  to  his  chauffeur,  "Switzerland,  Sir."  A  marvel 
of  mechanism,  useful  in  its  place  as  a  servant  of  indus- 
try, the  automobile,  as  an  agent  of  travel,  has  so  far  not 
contributed  essentially  to  the  result  we  are  here  con- 
cerned with,  its  educational  value.  On  the  contrary  it 
has  gone  far  to  breed  a  state  of  mind  thoroughly  hostile 
to  every  sound  educational  principle.  The  social  value 
of  the  automobile  will  not  be  found  in  its  contribution 
to  educative  travel,  but  in  its  enlargement  of  oppor- 
tunity within  a  comparatively  narrow  range~~ef  dis- 
tance. It  enables  the  farmer's  wife  to  break  the  trying 
monotony  of  her  isolated  existence.  It  ties  the  suburbs 
to  the  city  and  to  each  other.  It  brings  the  open 
country  within  the  range  of  the  dust-  and  smoke-filled 
citizen.  Beyond  these  relatively  narrow  limits  it  dupli- 
cates the  service  of  the  railway  and  the  horse,  but  it 
does  not  increase  the  opportunity  for  observation  and 
reflection  which  is  of 'the  very  essence  of  travel. 

Travel,  for  our  present  purpose,  is  change  of  place 
with  the  definite  aim  of  seeing  and  studying  new 
things.  It  includes,  not  merely  the  stopping  places,  but 
all  that  lies  between.  The  most  complete  ideal  of  travel 


200  LEARNING  AND  LIVING 

is  by  the  "footpath  way,"  where  every  step  brings 
the  wanderer  a  something  that  belongs  to  that  partic- 
ular bit  of  earth  and  is  therefore  new  to  him.  But  few 
of  us  have  strength  or  leisure  to  indulge  in  this  supreme 
joy  for  more  than  a  brief  period  and  over  fragments  of 
our  journey.  For  most  mortals  travel  must  consist  of 
fairly  rapid  transits  from  one  center  of  interest  to  an- 
other and  of  residence  in  these  centers  for  a  longer  or 
shorter  time.  Then  from  these  central  points  we  may 
radiate  as  widely  as  local  means  of  communication  will 
allow  and  thus  capture  after  all  something  of  the 
charm  of  the  open  road.  To  live  at  Rome  does  not 
mean  merely  to  visit  the  Forum,  the  Coliseum,  the 
Vatican,  and  the  Piazza  Vittorio  Emmanuele;  it  means 
also  to  wander  among  the  Alban  hills,  to  circle  the 
Lake  of  Nemi,  to  climb  the  streets  of  Rocca  di  Papa 
and  to  trace,  if  we  can,  the  limits  of  Horace's  Sabine 
farm. 

Leisureliness,  then,  is  an  element  of  true  travel.  To 
see  intelligently  and  enjoyably  these  chief  points  of  the 
Roman  Campagna  means  days  of  wandering  and  rest- 
ing. Then  comes  along  your  friend  with  the  automo- 
bile, picks  you  up  and  whirls  you  around  through  the 
whole  region  in  an  afternoon.  He  "hasn't  time"  for 
anything  more,  and,  in  truth,  this  is  better  than  noth- 
ing, but  it  is  not  travel.  He  would  be  far  more  of  a 
travelled  man  if  he  had  taken  the  trolley  to  Genzano, 
wandered  over  to  Nemi  and  spent  his  time  watching 
the  sunset  from  the  terrace  below  the  ancient  temple. 
That  would  have  given  him  something  to  remember 
which  would  have  been  a  positive  and  a  permanent 
possession. 


TRAVEL  AS  EDUCATION  201 

Even  Bacon,  however,  felt  that  there  were  wise 
limitations  to  the  slowness  of  travel.  He  says  of  his 
young  traveller:  "Let  him  not  stay  long  in  one  city 
or  town,  more  or  less  as  the  place  deserves,  but  not 
long.  Nay,  when  he  stays  in  one  city  or  town  let  him 
change  his  lodging  from  one  end  and  part  of  the  town 
to  another;  which  is  a  great  adamant  (magnet)  of  ac- 
quaintance." For  Bacon  thought  that  the  prime  ob- 
ject of  travel  was  to  make  as  complete  and  wide  an 
acquaintance  as  possible  with  the  countries  and  their 
inhabitants.  The  shrewd  philosopher  dreaded,  I  sus- 
pect, the  effect  of  too  long  delay  in  dulling  the  sharp- 
ness of  the  first  fresh  impression  made  upon  his  young 
gentleman  by  new  sights  and  sounds. 

If  this  is  a  fair  definition  of  travel,  we  are  led  on  to 
another  question:  who  may  profitably  engage  in  it? 
One's  instinct  would  perhaps  be  to  reply:  everyone 
who  has  the  means  and  the  opportunity.  But  it  does 
not  require  great  penetration  or  a  very  wide  expe- 
rience to  convince  one  that  means  and  opportunity  are 
often  ludicrously  out  of  proportion  to  the  capacity  to 
profit  by  them.  Sometimes,  as  we  look  about  us  on  our 
travels  there  seem  to  be  among  our  travelling  com- 
panions none  but  those  in  whom  this  disproportion  is 
the  most  evident  thing  about  them.  Here  again  Ba- 
con has  a  suggestion:  "He  that  travelleth  into  a  coun- 
try before  he  hath  some  entrance  into  the  language, 
goeth  to  school  and  not  to  travel."  He  draws  an  obvi- 
ous distinction  here  between  travel  as  in  itself  a  means 
of  culture  and  travel  as,  if  I  may  say  so,  a  mere  peda- 
gogical instrument. 


202  LEARNING  AND  LIVING 

He  names  the  most  important  objects  for  the  travel- 
ler's attention,  and  most  of  these  are  of  a  nature  to  be 
useful,  not  to  the  school  boy,  but  to  the  youth  of  a 
somewhat  matured  judgment.  First  of  all  he  mentions 
the  courts  of  princes;  then  "the  courts  of  justice,  while 
they  sit  and  hear  causes;  the  churches  and  monas- 
teries, with  the  monuments  which  are  there  extant; 
antiquities  and  ruins;  libraries,  colleges,  discussions 
and  lectures;  houses,  gardens  of  state  and  pleasure; 
exercises  of  horsemanship;  fencing,  training  of  soldiers 
and  the  like;  comedies  such  whereunto  the  better  sort 
of  persons  would  resort."  He  adds  that  after  all  these 
things  the  tutors  or  servants  of  the  young  traveller 
should  make  diligent  inquiry.  It  is  clear  that  Bacon 
had  in  mind  a  kind  of  travel  quite  different  from  mere 
residence  in  a  foreign  country  for  the  purpose  of  ac- 
quiring the  language,  and  that  distinction  is  important 
for  us  as  well.  He  says  further:  "Let  him  sequester 
himself  from  the  company  of  his  countrymen  and  diet 
in  such  places  where  there  is  good  company  of  the 
nation  where  he  travelleth." 

All  this  points  in  the  direction  in  which  my  own 
thoughts  about  travel  for  Americans  have  long  been 
tending.  To  gain  any  real  advantage  from  travel  one 
must  be  in  position  to  understand  something  of  the  life 
of  the  people  and  to  appreciate  something  of  the  memo- 
rials of  their  past.  It  is  an  idle  waste  of  time  for  men  or 
women  to  change  merely  their  skies  without  some  ra- 
tional points  of  connection  with  the  life,  the  history, 
and  the  achievements  of  the  people  whom  they  visit. 
Such  a  visitor  moves  about,  as  Bacon  says,  "hooded" 


TRAVEL  AS  EDUCATION  203 

and  he  "looks  abroad  little."  I  recall  a  case  of  an 
American  family  making  the  grand  tour  of  Europe 
timing  all  their  movements  with  reference  to  meeting 
another  American  family  and  playing  with  them  a 
continuous  series  of  games  of  whist.  There  is  another 
tale;  I  do  not  vouch  for  its  truth,  but  it  is  too  good  not 
to  be  true.  An  American  family  devoted  to  home  and 
to  each  other,  had  long  been  planning  a  European  trip, 
and  at  length  the  time  came  when  they  could  all  go. 
Their  voyage  across  the  unnecessarily  wet  ocean  was 
accomplished  with  success.  They  landed  at  Liverpool 
in  the  midst  of  a  dreary  fog  such  as  only  the  English 
shore  can  offer  as  its  welcome  to  the  traveller.  They 
suffered  much  annoyance  in  the  transfer  of  their  lug- 
gage; they  found  no  ice  water  in  their  rooms  and  no 
open  fires  in  the  hotel  parlors  and  no  soda  fountain  at 
the  next  corner.  Things  began  to  look  very  serious; 
they  held  a  council  of  war,  and  wisely  decided  to  return 
by  the  same  steamer  to  the  land  of  comforts.  That 
family  knew  what  it  wanted,  and  I  have  always  felt 
that  they  were  a  model  for  all  who  are  tempted  to 
travel  without  due  appreciation  of  what  travel  has  to 
offer  them. 

The  tendency  of  our  day  is  toward  satisfaction  in 
mere  movement  without  due  reflection  on  the  value  of 
the  thing  we  imagine  ourselves  to  be  seeking.  Landing 
from  the  Harwich  steamer  at  the  Hook  of  Holland  just 
as  the  first  streaks  of  dawn  were  lighting  the  meadows, 
we  found  ourselves  in  the  same  railway  compartment 
with  two  solid,  substantial  American  couples  evidently 
beginning  their  first  continental  outing  after  many 


204  LEARNING  AND  LIVING 

years  of  successful  prudence.  They  had  neither  guide- 
book nor  map;  they  did  not  know  just  where  they 
were;  the  only  fixed  point  in  their  outlook  was  the 
next  coupon  of  their  circular  ticket,  which  assured 
them  that  they  were  to  stop  off  at  The  Hague  and  find 
refuge  in  a  first-class  hotel,  as  nominated  in  the  bond. 
Nothing  else  really  mattered.  They  were  sure  to  be 
handed  on  from  one  purveyor  of  travelling  service  to 
another  until  they  should  be  safely  landed  once  more 
in  "God's  country." 

Nor  is  this  blankness  of  mind  confined  to  persons  of 
limited  opportunity.  I  knew  a  learned  professional 
gentleman  who  made  the  European  tour  with  his 
family  for  the  first  time,  not,  as  he  frankly  confessed, 
because  he  wished  to  do  so  or  because  he  foresaw  any 
real  satisfaction  in  the  performance.  He  went,  he  said, 
because  it  was  "one  of  the  things  you  have  to  do." 
When  all  was  over  he  expressed  his  sense  of  relief  that 
that  job  was  done  and  that  it  had  been  accomplished 
at  a  much  lower  price  than  he  had  anticipated.  On  a 
Mediterranean  steamer  we  encountered  two  pairs  of 
young  men  just  graduated  from  a  great  American  uni- 
versity, precisely  at  the  age  when  travel  ought  to  have 
meant  most  to  them.  They  were  embarked  on  a 
journey  round  the  world,  which  was  to  occupy  them 
for  a  year.  One  of  these  pairs,  dear  pleasant  fellows 
they  were,  had  no  more  understanding  of  what  they 
were  about  than  the  quaint  old  couples  of  the  Dutch 
railway.  They  were  frankly  bored  by  the  whole  thing 
and  sought  relief  in  any  form  of  harmless  foolery  that 
offered  itself.  They  had  no  books  with  them  and  had 


TRAVEL  AS  EDUCATION  205 

done  no  reading  in  preparation  for  their  journey.  The 
other  pair  were  more  thoughtful  youths,  evidently  bet- 
ter students,  who  had  given  serious  thought  to  the  task 
they  had  in  hand,  but  were  already  appalled  at  the 
vastness  of  the  world  and  of  their  own  ignorance.  They 
had  come  to  feel  that  the  whole  idea  of  the  world  tour 
was  a  mistake,  that  they  would  have  done  much  better 
to  give  their  holiday  year  to  a  more  limited  area  and  to 
have  explored  that  more  thoroughly.  Still  there  they 
were  with  their  round-trip  tickets  in  their  pockets  and 
they  were  determined  to  put  it  through.  They,  I 
think,  would  learn  some  of  the  lessons  of  real  travel 
and  would  probably  profit  by  them  in  future  expe- 
riences. 

Travel  is  not  mere  change  of  place;  but  the  fact  of 
change  is  in  itself  an  element,  sometimes  a  very  im- 
portant one,  in  the  benefit  of  travel.  We  are  all,  I  sup- 
pose, at  times  aware  that  we  are  subject  to  a  kind  of 
strain  upon  mind  and  nerves  from  the  mere  daily  and 
hourly  sight  of  the  same  things.  We  become  adjusted 
too  fatally  well  to  the  routine  which  makes  up  the 
greater  part  of  all  human  living.  The  very  outline  of 
familiar  streets,  houses,  fields  becomes  unconsciously 
to  ourselves  a  burden;  it  seems  to  wear  upon  certain 
tender  fibres  of  our  nature,  and  we  say,  without  know- 
ing precisely  what  we  mean,  that  we  are  "  tired."  It  is 
a  symptom  of  this  weariness  that  we  feel  ourselves 
driven  more  and  more  cruelly  by  the  demon  of  routine. 
We  cling  more  tightly  than  ever  to  the  wonted  task, 
until  by-and-by  we  lose  the  power  of  relaxation.  But 
if,  happily,  before  that  crisis  comes,  some  fortunate 


206  LEARNING  AND  LIVING 

circumstance  brings  us  a  change  of  surroundings,  then 
the  very  difference  of  outline  offered  to  our  outward 
eyes  gives  us  almost  at  once  a  surprising  sense  of  relief. 
If  we  are  wise  we  follow  the  example  of  the  tired  citizen 
who  said  "  California  is  of  no  use  to  me.  No  sooner  am 
I  there  than  I  begin  to  want  to  reform  the  politics  of 
Santa  Barbara.  In  Europe  I  am  perfectly  willing  to  let 
the  people  run  their  own  politics."  It  is  well  for  us  if  we 
too  can  shift  the  gear  from  high  to  low  and  for  a  time 
let  things  take  care  of  themselves. 

The  ocean  voyage,  for  example,  with  its  change  from 
the  sharp  angles  that  meet  us  in  our  daily  walks  to  the 
vast  levels  of  the  sea,  brings  a  sense  of  rest  and  peace 
that  works  its  silent  miracle  upon  our  weary  souls. 
When  we  come  to  land  again  we  are  conscious  in  quite 
a  new  way  of  the  meanings  of  form  and  color.  We  of 
New  England  realize  perhaps  for  the  first  time  the 
singular  beauty  of  our  own  landscape.  We  miss  the 
stone  wall,  the  rough  pasture,  the  luxuriant  foliage  of 
the  elm;  but  in  place  of  these  the  eye  dwells  upon  other 
types  of  vegetation  and  other  forms  of  human  con- 
struction. This  change  of  form  and  color,  with  its  sug- 
gestions of  a  life  different  from  our  own  is  the  most 
obvious  surface  charm  of  travel,  but  it  is  very  strange 
how  soon  the  eye  adjusts  itself  to  these  new  combina- 
tions. As  one  enters,  for  example,  a  town  like  Ant- 
werp, with  its  irregular  streets,  its  great  open  places, 
its  quaint  gabled  houses,  its  strange  display  in  the 
windows,  its  monuments  of  an  architecture  now  dis- 
appearing, the  entrance  ways  of  its  stately  mansions 
with  their  suggestions  of  garden  and  cloister  beyond, 


TRAVEL  AS  EDUCATION  207 

one  feels  a  sense  of  "refreshment  and  inspiration  that 
hardly  anything  else  can  give.  As  one  wanders  through 
the  narrow  lanes  of  Seville,  glancing  in  through  lace- 
work  grills  into  the  fascinating  patios  that  at  once  in- 
vite and  repel  intrusion,  and  brushing  past  the  close 
screened  windows  set  for  the  scene  of  true  Andalusian 
romance,  one  is  lifted  out  of  his  own  little  world  of 
cares  and  transplanted  into  a  dreamland  of  elusive 
fancies. 

But  then,  after  a  few  days,  we  realize  almost  with  a 
shock  how  familiar  these  things  have  become  to  us.  If 
we  go  from  Antwerp  to  Bruges  or  from  Seville  to  Cor- 
dova, quaint  and  altogether  delightful  as  these  must  be 
to  the  open-eyed  traveller,  we  are  surprised  to  be  so 
little  surprised.  We  seem  already  to  take  these  forms  of 
life  for  granted,  and  when  that  happens,  one  of  the 
first  charms  of  travel  begins  to  be  dimmed,  or  rather,  to 
put  it  more  precisely,  the  charm  of  novelty  yields  for 
the  moment  to  the  more  permanent  charm  of  familiar- 
ity. For  the  experienced  traveller  learns  that  there  are 
two  abiding  sources  of  pleasure  in  travel,  the  joy  of 
seeing  new  things  and  the  joy  of  revisiting  familiar 
things,  and  between  the  two  he  is  at  a  loss  to  say  which 
is  the  greater.  Certainly  if  at  any  moment  he  feels  his 
sense  of  enjoyment  a  little  dulled,  he  has  only  to  shift 
the  scene  to  some  marked  contrast  in  the  mingling  of 
nature  with  man's  devices.  To  pass  from  Belgium  into 
Holland,  there  to  welcome  the  great  flat  spaces  of  the 
open  country,  the  skies  bending  down,  as  one  sees  them 
in  the  wonderful  Dutch  landscape  paintings,  to  touch 
the  edges  of  the  ocean,  is  to  renew  the  thrill  of  novelty 


208  LEARNING  AND  LIVING 

in  full  measure.  It  must  be  a  jaded  traveller  indeed 
who  could  gaze  without  emotion  westward  from  the 
train  between  Alexandria  and  Cairo,  over  the  lux- 
uriant meadows  of  the  Delta  to  the  causeway  beyond, 
where  Abraham,  Isaac,  and  Rebecca,  with  their  man- 
servants and  maid-servants,  their  oxen  and  asses, 
sheep  and  camels  are  passing  in  solemn  procession,  sil- 
houetted against  the  golden  sunset  sky.  These  are  some 
of  the  uses  and  suggestions  of  the  joy  and  profit  of  intel- 
ligent travelling.  They  enter  into  our  general  subject 
of  travel  as  education  in  so  far  as  they  may  be  utilized 
to  advance  the  purpose  we  have  finally  in  view.  If  we 
take  them  in  the  spirit  of  Kipling's  soldier-man : 

For  to  admire  an'  for  to  see, 
For  to  be'old  this  world  so  wide,  — 
It  never  done  no  good  to  me,  — 
But  I  can't  drop  it  if  I  tried! 

then  indeed  they  are  devoid  of  educational  value;  but 
if  we  use  them  by  way  of  introduction  or  as  continuing 
illustrations  to  our  other  sources  of  knowledge  and 
inspiration  they  may  prove  of  the  highest  value. 

This  brings  us  to  the  question  of  preparation  for 
travel.  So  far  I  have  rather  implied  that  the  unpre- 
pared person  would  better  wait;  but  what  do  we  mean 
by  preparation  ?  Coming  out  of  the  Picture  Gallery  at 
Dresden  I  was  accosted  by  the  father  of  an  American 
family,  the  members  of  which  were  standing  about  in 
various  stages  of  physical  and  mental  dilapidation, 
with  the  inquiry:  "Say,  you've  just  come  out  of  here; 
do  you  think  there's  anything  in  there  worth  paying 
a  quarter  apiece  to  look  at?"  I  was  staggered  for  a 


TRAVEL  AS  EDUCATION  209 

moment,  but  then,  recalling  the  sound  principle  that 
every  one  ought  to  be  allowed  to  be  happy  in  his  own 
way,  and  with  inward  apologies  to  Raphael,  Holbein 
and  the  rest,  I  brazenly  answered:  "No,  I  don't  be- 
lieve there  is,"  and  the  sighs  of  relief  that  went  up  from 
that  stricken  family  were  abundant  assurance  that  my 
sin  would  be  forgiven.  One  morning  early  at  Luxor,  I 
went  down  through  the  hotel  garden  to  the  river  bank 
and  there  found  a  compatriot  who  had  arrived  the  night 
before  from  one  of  Cook's  excursion  steamers  gazing 
out  in  some  perplexity  over  the  lazy  flow  of  the  water. 
To  some  vacant  remark  of  mine  about  the  beauty  of 
the  scene  he  replied:  "Well,  say,  which  way  does  this 
river  run,  any  way?"  I  answered  that  it  ran  north- 
ward, to  our  right.  "Oh,  it  runs  north,  does  it?  Well, 
most  rivers  run  south,  don't  they?"  I  named  over  to 
him  several  examples  of  familiar  northward  flowing 
streams,  and  after  a  moment's  reflection  he  conceded: 
"Well,  when  you  come  to  analyze  it,  I  dunno  but  they 
do!"  I  think  we  should  all  agree  that  these  by  no 
means  unusual  cases  reveal  a  distinct  lack  of  prepara- 
tion for  the  best  advantages  of  travel. 

On  the  other  hand,  I  recall  an  acquaintance  made 
many  years  ago  in  Rome  with  an  American  college 
professor  who  said  that  he  had  found  everything  in  the 
Eternal  City  exactly  as  he  had  worked  it  out  from 
books,  except  that  the  Mamertine  prison  lay  a  few  feet 
farther  to  the  south  than  he  had  calculated.  I  confess  I 
felt  that  this  person  had  been  somewhat  over-prepared 
for  his  Roman  visit.  His  joy  in  viewing  the  remains  of 
the  ancient  world  was  rather  that  of  one  who  success- 


210  LEARNING  AND  LIVING 

fully  guesses  a  riddle  than  that  of  a  true  discoverer. 
Travel  taken  in  that  spirit  becomes  only  another  form 
of  studious  research.  One  might  reach  practically  all 
its  results  without  leaving  one's  own  library.  The 
most  accomplished  oriental  scholar  I  have  known  had 
never  set  foot  in  the  Orient.  It  seemed  a  pity  that  he 
could  not  have  added  this  stimulating  experience  to  his 
learned  achievement,  but  it  is  a  fair  question  whether 
the  value  of  his  contribution  to  science  would  thereby 
have  been  increased. 

A  young  friend  of  mine  with  an  extraordinary  gift  of 
imaginative  expression  became  a  successful  writer  of 
historical  novels  without  ever  having  been  outside  his 
native  state.  His  glowing  descriptions  of  nature  and 
his  telling  characterizations  of  human  life  were  purely 
works  of  the  imagination,  founded  upon  books,  yet, 
through  the  power  of  this  constructive  imagination, 
more  true  to  life  than  many  a  labored  product  of 
deeper  study  and  wider  observation.  He  carried  about 
with  him  for  years  the  plan  of  a  great  work  centering 
around  a  famous  historic  character,  postponing  the 
actual  writing  until  he  should  be  able  to  follow  in  per- 
son the  footsteps  of  his  hero  through  all  the  scenes  of 
his  dramatic  career.  Meanwhile  he  was  preparing 
himself  by  copious  reading,  so  that  his  travel  should 
be  as  intelligent  as  possible.  At  last  the  opportunity 
came;  he  made  his  journey  and  he  wrote  his  book,  but 
not  with  the  hoped-for  success.  The  scenic  back- 
ground was  a  description  of  realities,  not  a  picture  such 
as  the  artist  evolves  by  the  alchemy  of  his  genius.  The 
dramatic  narrative  was  abundantly  documented,  but 


TRAVEL  AS  EDUCATION  211 

it  lacked  the  glow  of  the  earlier  romance.  In  a  word, 
the  over-preparation  for  travel  reacted  upon  the  artis- 
tic product,  which  was  its  too  specific  purpose. 

Much  of  the  joy  and  consequently,  I  think,  much  of 
the  profit  of  travel  comes  in  the  first-hand  study  of 
what  we  can  find  without  this  specific  preparation. 
One  of  the  happiest  as  well  as  one  of  the  most  delicate 
duties  of  the  college  teacher  is  the  advising  of  young, 
eager  students  as  to  the  use  they  can  make  of  travel- 
ling fellowships.  For  myself,  I  find  an  increasing  tend- 
ency to  counsel  such  ardent  spirits  not  to  spend  the 
precious  months  of  their  foreign  visit  in  libraries  or  in 
their  studies,  but  to  go  out  beyond  these  already  famil- 
iar limits  into  the  larger  fields  of  personal  observation 
and  comparison.  Such  a  man  does  well  to  take  as  his 
motto:  to  do  in  Europe  what  he  cannot  do  at  home. 
For  the  student,  no  matter  in  what  branch  of  science, 
there  is  a  world  of  experiences,  of  traditions,  of  the 
gathered  up  achievements  of  the  past,  into  which  as  an 
American  in  America  it  is  difficult  for  him  to  pene- 
trate. In  Europe  this  accumulated  treasure  creates 
for  him  an  atmosphere  into  which  it  must  repay  him  to 
enter.  The  very  best  thing  that  a  young  American 
who  has  already  gained  all  that  a  formal  education  at 
home  can  give  him  may  acquire  in  a  year  abroad  is 
this  chance  of  becoming  a  conscious  sharer  in  the  great 
inheritance  of  European  culture. 

To  illustrate  great  things  by  small:  I  was  much 
touched  by  a  story  told  by  a  professor  in  a  woman's 
college,  whose  special  function  was  to  rouse  the  in- 
terest of  her  pupils  in  the  imaginative  side  of  literature. 


212  LEARNING  AND  LIVING 

She  told  how  she  had  watched  from  day  to  day  the  ex- 
pressive blankness  on  the  face  of  a  young  girl  to  whom 
all  she  was  saying  seemed  to  convey  only  the  effect  of 
an  uncomprehended  mystery;  till  finally  after  many 
days  the  poor  girl  came  to  her  with  tears  in  her  eyes 
and  begged  her  to  tell  her  what  this  strange  thing  was 
which  she  felt  all  about  her,  which  the  others  seemed 
to  comprehend  but  which  for  her  still  remained  the 
unattainable.  "Tell  me"  she  said  "is  this  the  '  cul- 
ture '  I  have  always  heard  about  ? "  That  is  what  I 
mean  by  the  European  atmosphere  into  which  the 
American,  prepared,  not  necessarily  by  a  mass  of 
statistical  information,  but  by  some  anticipation  of  the 
thing  as  yet  unattained,  may  enter  if  he  will  and  can. 
How  far  he  can  penetrate  depends  upon  many 
things.  Bacon  says:  "He  must  have  some  entrance 
into  the  language  before  he  goeth."  Now  I  do  not 
mean  to  imply  that  it  is  impossible  for  a  person  with- 
out the  command  of  foreign  languages  to  gain  much 
that  is  valuable  of  this  European  influence,  but  I  can 
hardly  urge  too  strongly  upon  those  who  expect  to 
spend,  let  us  say,  a  year  abroad  to  give  time  before- 
hand, or  better  still  during  the  first  few  months  of  their 
visit  in  gaining  such  a  speaking  acquaintance  with 
at  least  one  European  language,  that  they  can  give 
themselves  the  immense  instruction  of  independence. 
The  traveller  who  is  restricted  to  his  own  tongue  is  the 
slave  of  those  who  offer  themselves  as  his  servants; 
and  the  first  true  delights  of  the  traveller  often  come 
when  for  the  first  time,  he  finds  himself  afloat  in  re- 
gions not  frequented  by  his  fellow-countrymen  and 


TRAVEL  AS  EDUCATION  213 

compelled  by  very  necessity  to  make  use  of  his  store, 
scanty  though  it  be,  of  foreign  words. 

This  subject  of  language  brings  me  to  one  of  the 
worst  sentimental  delusions  in  regard  to  travel  as  a 
means  of  education.  When  I  returned  from  several 
years'  residence  abroad  as  a  young  man,  I  said  to  my- 
self if  I  could  ever  save  anyone  from  the  error  of  send- 
ing children  abroad  for  study  I  would  go  far  out  of  my 
way  to  do  so.  The  argument  in  favor  of  such  a  practice 
is  very  catching.  It  begins  with  the  apparently  ob- 
vious fact  that  the  knowledge  of  foreign  languages  is 
a  highly  important  thing,  it  continues  with  the  fur- 
ther obvious  supposition  that  a  foreign  language  is 
more  easily  acquired  in  youth  than  at  any  other  period 
of  life,  and  it  draws  the  conclusion  that  the  wise  thing 
to  do  for  the  child  is  to  place  him  where  he  will  learn 
the  foreign  language  with  the  least  expenditure  of 
energy.  I  think,  however,  that  every  stage  of  this 
argumentation  requires  a  good  deal  of  examination. 
First,  it  is  doubtful  whether  the  acquisition  of  a  foreign 
language  so  that  it  can  be  spoken,  is  for  the  young 
American  a  matter  of  the  highest  importance.  If  it 
could  come  to  him  in  his  home  with  the  counteracting 
influences  of  American  life  about  him  it  might  be  ac- 
cepted as  one  of  the  fortunate  incidents  of  his  educa- 
tion; but  if  the  price  to  be  paid  is  the  displacing  of  the 
child  at  an  age  of  the  highest  sensibility  into  circum- 
stances highly  unfavorable  to  his  general  development 
as  a  citizen  of  the  Republic,  the  advantage  may  very 
well  be  questioned.  Personally  I  believe,  as  President 
Eliot  said,  that  a  foreign  education  is  one  of  the  worst 


2i4  LEARNING  AND  LIVING 

possible  introductions  of  the  American  youth  into  life. 
As  to  the  second  proposition,  that  childhood  is  the  best 
time  to  learn  languages  —  that  depends  very  largely 
upon  conditions.  If  the  language  comes  naturally  to 
the  child  before  the  self-conscious  period,  say  under  the 
age  of  ten,  there  can  be  no  doubt  that  he  accomplishes 
a  certain  small  result  with  less  effort  than  he  will  ever 
have  to  make  again;  but,  for  one  thing,  that  result  is  in 
itself  but  slight;  he  acquires  a  child's  vocabulary  and  a 
child's  command  of  linguistic  forms.  Furthermore,  if 
he  applies  himself  to  the  study  of  the  language  at  a 
somewhat  later  period,  say  before  he  is  twenty-five, 
his  power  to  make  effort  is  proportionately  immensely 
greater,  and  his  sense  of  the  importance  of  what  he  is 
doing  gives  him  the  motive  which  is  worth  more  than 
any  other  condition  of  success.  If  one  examines  with 
some  care  the  conditions  of  life  abroad  for  a  young 
child,  boy  or  girl,  he  can  readily  convince  himself  that 
they  are  as  far  as  possible  from  being  desirable.  It  is 
true,  provision  has  been  made  on  a  considerable  scale 
to  meet  the  demand  for  this  kind  of  so-called  educa- 
tion on  the  part  of  American  families;  and  a  crop  of 
hybrid  schools,  neither  foreign  nor  American,  has 
sprung  up  all  over  the  continent  in  which  an  American 
child  may  be  taken  under  conditions  of  at  least  half- 
respectability,  but  the  life  at  which  tends  to  separate  it 
at  the  most  important  crisis  of  its  life  from  all  those  in- 
fluences under  which  it  would  normally  come,  and 
under  which  those  who  are  to  be  its  comrades  in  work 
through  life  are  necessarily  brought.  I  would  not 
advocate  in  the  education  even  of  a  child  a  narrow 


TRAVEL  AS  EDUCATION  215 

nationalism  that  may  make  it  blind  to  the  largeness 
and  variety  of  human  experience.  But  I  would  have 
those  larger  impressions  grow  upon  a  foundation  of 
attachment  to  the  soil  and  to  the  people  that  are  the 
child's  own.  It  will  be  said  perhaps  that  the  sentiment 
of  Americanism  can  be  kept  alive  in  the  mind  of  a 
child  educated  abroad,  and  doubtless  this,  in  a  sense,  is 
true;  but  I  do  not  think  that,  with  a  good  many  op- 
portunities for  observation,  I  have  ever  seen  an  in- 
dividual case  in  which  I  felt  that  the  life  of  a  youth  had 
been  made  larger,  or  richer,  or  more  effective  by  this 
means. 

As  to  specific  results:  the  child  who  has  been 
"educated  abroad"  will  in  all  probability  gradually 
drop  all  occupation  with  the  language  it  has  partially 
acquired.  It  will  only  furtively  and  shamefacedly 
speak  the  few  words  it  has  learned,  and  will  have  no 
incentive  to  add  to  its  vocabulary.  The  famous  "ac- 
cent" it  is  supposed  to  have  achieved  will  pretty 
promptly  disappear  by  the  subtle  process  of  disuse. 
There  will  remain  a  certain  substructure  of  ability  to 
read,  but  whether  upon  this  will  be  built  up  a  real 
edifice  of  literary  enjoyment  depends  upon  conditions 
having  little  or  nothing  to  do  with  the  early  study 
abroad.  The  less  —  or  more  —  fortunate  mate  who 
has  pegged  out  his  reading  knowledge  of  French  or 
German  by  the  inevitable  grind  is  likely  to  outdistance 
the  travelled  youth  who  imagines  there  is  some  mys- 
terious charm  that  will  guarantee  him  results  without 
effort.  The  most  appreciative  reader  of  German  litera- 
ture I  have  known  was  a  woman  who  had  never  set 


216  LEARNING  AND  LIVING 

foot  in  Europe,  but  who  knew  the  price  that  must  be 
paid  for  any  solid  intellectual  acquirement.  It  is  no- 
torious among  the  college  teachers  of  European  lan- 
guages, that  their  worst  pupils  are  the  youths  who  have 
been  "educated  abroad."  Because  they  can  click  the 
"r"  in  their  throat  or  master  the  French  "u,"  they  are 
too  likely  to  despise  the  unromantic  struggle  with  the 
grammar  on  which  alone  a  true  command,  even  of  the 
printed  page,  must  be  based. 

So  far  as  the  acquisition  of  language  at  an  early  age 
is  concerned,  then,  we  may  dismiss  that  as  one  of  the 
excuses  for  the  restlessness  which  likes  to  call  itself  by 
the  name  of  foreign  travel.  But  there  is  another  fond 
illusion  which  it  is  the  painful  duty  of  a  truth-telling 
monitor  to  shatter,  and  that  is  the  notion  that  we  can 
effectively  combine  travel  with  the  study  of  history  or 
literature  or  indeed  of  any  other  serious  matter.  Prob- 
ably most  of  us  who  have  travelled  have  fallen  victims 
at  one  time  or  another  to  this  pleasing  fancy,  but  I 
should  be  surprised  if  experience  has  not  generally 
shown  us  that  the  scheme  will  not  practically  work. 
Perhaps  we  have  rilled  our  trunks  with  useful  books 
carefully  chosen  with  reference  to  the  places  we  were 
to  visit,  only  to  find  that  when  we  were  in  the  presence 
of  the  objects  we  most  wished  to  see  and  understand 
we  could  not  profitably  use  them.  The  immediate 
question  we  were  asking  would  not  come  to  the  surface 
of  our  literature  at  the  time  we  needed  the  answer. 
We  felt  the  vastness  of  our  ignorance  more  keenly  than 
ever,  but  our  reading  seemed  to  supply  only  the  infor- 
mation we  did  not  need  just  then.  If  we  were  wise  we 


TRAVEL  AS  EDUCATION  217 

fell  back  on  our  Baedeker  with  the  comforting  assur- 
ance that  he  had  often  been  in  just  our  predicament 
and  would  know  about  how  much  it  was  good  for  us  to 
know  at  this  precise  point. 

The  fact  is,  I  take  it,  that  the  two  processes,  of  ob- 
servation and  of  serious  study,  are  so  different  that 
they  will  not  easily  go  on  together.  Observation  con- 
cerns itself  with  a  multitude  of  details  which  we  have 
then  afterward  to  arrange  and  coordinate  by  the  more 
deliberate  process  of  study.  The  detail  must  be  sifted 
and  weighed  and  measured  before  it  can  be  of  much 
use  to  us,  and  for  this  there  is  no  time  while  we  are  still 
busied  with  the  detail  itself.  I  recall  a  typical  case  of 
an  eager  Yankee  school  teacher,  nervously  anxious  to 
waste  no  moment  of  her  precious  Roman  holiday,  who 
came  home  to  her  pension  every  day  tired  out  with 
sight  seeing,  only  to  hurry  into  the  salon,  where,  under 
her  favorite  chair,  she  kept  a  little  library  of  useful 
books.  Then  with  feverish  haste  she  would  chase 
through  the  volumes  for  answers  to  the  conundrums 
which  the  day's  adventures  had  set  for  her.  She  seldom 
found  them,  and  the  sum  total  of  her  acquisition  would 
be  far  less  than  if  she  had  joined  some  merry  party  at  a 
tea  room  and  spent  the  evening  at  the  theatre.  So  I 
say,  while  we  are  travelling  let  us  travel  in  the  fullest 
sense  of  the  word,  content  with  a  sort  of  guidance  that 
we  may  feel  to  be  superficial,  but  which  is  all  that  we 
can  profit  by  for  the  moment. 

And,  speaking  of  guidance,  I  hope  I  shall  not  seem 
too  full  of  the  milk  of  human  kindness  if  I  say  a  good 
word  for  the  "personal  conductor."  Of  the  race  in 


2i 8  LEARNING  AND  LIVING 

general  I  am  ready  to  believe  almost  any  evil  thing,  but 
I  have  happened  to  know  some  highly  educated  per- 
sons, both  men  and  women,  with  whom  I  should  regard 
it  as  a  privilege  to  visit  places  through  which  they  felt 
competent  to  guide  me.  They  correspond  in  our  mod- 
ern world  to  Bacon's  "tutor  or  grave  servant"  who 
"knoweth  the  country"  and  their  assistance  given  at 
the  right  time  and  in  the  right  way  may  be  of  great 
value  to  the  intelligent  traveller.  One  may  do  a  vast 
amount  of  reading  beforehand  without  touching,  cer- 
tainly without  remembering,  the  precise  things  needed 
on  the  spot.  The  experienced  guide,  like  every  expe- 
rienced teacher,  learns  to  know  the  difficult  places  and 
how  to  help  one  over  them.  He  is  as  little  likely  to  set 
himself  up  as  a  substitute  for  real  study  as  the  true 
teacher  is  likely  to  propose  himself  as  a  substitute  for 
the  pupil's  own  activity.  Especially  for  the  first  trip 
abroad  one  might  do  much  worse  than  entrust  oneself 
to  such  a  leader.  Only  let  him  be  exceedingly  careful 
in  his  choice.  The  advantage  of  a  book  is  that  it  can  be 
laid  aside;  the  personal  conductor  cannot,  and  there  is 
always  the  danger  that  he  may  become  an  Old  Man  of 
the  Sea,  a  terror  to  one's  days  and  nights. 

To  the  mature  traveller  having  full  possession  of  his 
faculties,  with  some  knowledge  of  languages  and  a  rea- 
sonable background  of  early  reading,  the  joy  of  find- 
ing out  for  himself  what  he  really  wants  to  see  is  a  great 
part  of  his  experience,  the  part  to  which  he  looks  back 
with  the  greatest  interest  and  satisfaction.  Then  there 
is  always  the  peculiar  comfort  of  thinking  that,  if  we 
know  but  little  now,  there  is  a  good  time  coming  when 


TRAVEL  AS  EDUCATION  219 

we  can  fill  up  all  the  gaps.  Of  course  our  more  expe- 
rienced judgment  tells  us  that  this  time  seldom  comes, 
but  the  illusion  is  one  of  the  dearest  of  all  ages,  and  it 
will  be  a  sorry  day  when  we  can  keep  it  no  longer.  No, 
let  us  accept  the  fact:  the  process  of  observation  is  a 
thing  by  itself.  It  should  rest  upon  study,  and  it  should 
lead  to  further  and  more  intelligent  study;  but  while 
we  are  about  it,  let  us  not  worry  over  our  own  super- 
ficiality, but  enjoy  it  while  it  lasts,  frankly  using  our 
eyes  and  our  feet  and  rejoicing  that  we  have  them  to 
use. 

I  have  hinted  at  the  weariness  that  is  sure  to  befall 
the  observant  and  conscientious  traveller.  So  widely 
recognized  is  this  phenomenon  that  names  have  been 
invented  for  its  various  phases:  " travelitis,"  "gal- 
leryitis,"  "museumitis"  and  so  on.  What  the  novice 
forgets  is  that  in  travelling,  as  well  as  in  other  occupa- 
tions, there  are  twenty-four  hours  in  every  day  to  be 
disposed  of.  He  begins  with  U  sincere  desire  to  "make 
the  most"  of  them  all,  and  thinks  he  is  making  the 
most  of  them  when  he  spends  the  greatest  number  of 
them  in  the  direct  pursuit  of  his  main  object.  The 
Vatican  galleries  in  the  morning,  two  or  three  neighbor- 
ing churches  on  the  way  home,  a  hurried  lunch,  an 
hour  or  two  of  reading,  a  walk  to  some  point  of  van- 
tage for  a  study  of  topography,  a  too  abundant  dinner, 
some  more  reading,  and  to  bed  with  a  strange  exhilara- 
tion that  starts  him  up  on  the  following  morning  with 
renewed  energy  to  repeat  the  program  —  a  week  or 
two  of  this,  longer  or  shorter  according  to  the  reserve 
of  strength,  and  then  reaction,  a  dullness  of  the  senses, 


220  LEARNING  AND  LIVING 

a  failure  of  the  nerves  to  respond  to  the  daily  call  and 
alas !  in  too  many  cases,  collapse.  There  is  no  real  edu- 
cation in  such  travel  as  this.  He  is  the  happy  man  who, 
warned  in  time,  learns  to  apportion  his  day  as  he  would 
naturally  do  at  home  between  the  various  resources  at 
his  command,  to  shorten  the  hours  of  tension  and 
lengthen  those  of  relaxation,  to  vary  sightseeing  by 
rational  social  intercourse,  to  give  himself  definite 
periods  of  complete  rest,  and  from  time  to  time  take 
the  luxury  of  complete  exemption  from  every  sense  of 
duty. 

Bacon  says:  "It  is  a  strange  thing  that  in  sea  voy- 
ages, where  there  is  nothing  to  be  seen  but  sky  and 
sea,  men  should  make  diaries,  but  in  land  travel, 
wherein  so  much  is  to  be  observed,  for  the  most  part 
they  omit  it;  as  if  chance  were  fitter  to  be  registered 
than  observation.  Let  diaries,  therefore,  be  brought 
into  use."  The  ordinary  traveller's  diary  is,  I  sadly 
fear,  not  so  much  a  means  of  education  as  a  record  of 
passing  and  usually  incorrect  impressions.  That  even 
these  have  a  value  in  recalling  many  pleasant  moments 
and,  perhaps,  marking  many  stages  in  our  advance- 
ment towards  a  right  understanding  of  things  is  not  to 
be  questioned;  but  they  might  be  made  to  serve  a  posi- 
tive educational  purpose  if  we  could  record  in  them 
just  those  notes  of  inquiry  which  in  the  pressure  of 
travel  we  have  no  time  to  answer.  We  visit,  for  ex- 
ample, a  monument  to  some  famous  person  who  to  us 
has  hitherto  been  little  more  than  a  name.  It  engages 
our  attention  by  some  artistic  quality,  so  that  we  would 
like  to  keep  it  always  before  the  eye  of  our  mind,  but 


TRAVEL  AS  EDUCATION  221 

that  is  not  quite  enough;  we  would  like  to  know  more 
about  the  man  it  commemorates;  we  have  not  time 
then  to  read  about  him,  but  a  note  in  our  diary  will  fix 
him  as  one  of  the  starting-points  in  that  wonderful 
reading  we  are  so  sure  we  are  going  to  do  when  the 
time  comes.  Reading  with  such  notes  will  help  to  bind 
together  many  scattered  incidents  of  our  journey  and 
so  weave  it  into  the  pattern  of  our  "education." 

In  a  word  travel  may  most  profitably  be  thought  of 
as  intercalated  between  one  period  of  study  and  an- 
other, and  it  is  a  matter  well  worth  our  attention  what 
kind  and  degree  of  study  is  appropriate  to  these  two 
periods.  One  is,  of  course,  tempted  to  think  that  the 
more  one  knows  the  more  one  enjoys,  and  if  we  are 
speaking  of  mere  statistical  information,  like  that  of 
my  schoolmaster  friend  in  the  Roman  Forum,  this  is 
true,  but  I  cannot  help  thinking  that,  so  far  as  educa- 
tion is  concerned,  it  depends  a  good  deal  upon  how  and 
when  our  knowledge  is  acquired.  In  the  world  of 
aesthetic  impressions  especially  I  have  serious  doubts 
whether  much  that  passes  for  useful  knowledge  is  not 
rather  a  hindrance  than  a  help  to  the  fullest  profit  in 
travel. 

For  example,  to  what  extent  is  it  desirable  that  the 
intending  traveller  should,  as  the  phrase  is,  study  art 
at  home?  Is  it  true  that  the  more  he  knows  about  art 
the  keener  his  enjoyment  and  the  greater  his  profit? 
Supposing,  for  instance,  that  as  a  very  young  student 
he  has  heard  lectures  on  the  great  painters  and  studied 
their  work  in  reproduction  under  good  teachers,  will 
his  travel  be,  in  this  respect,  so  much  the  more  useful 


222  LEARNING  AND  LIVING 

to  him?  Can  he  really  build  upon  this  foundation  a 
superstructure  of  knowledge  and  understanding  that 
will  be  sound  and  permanent?  I  confess  to  having  my 
doubts.  His  teacher  will,  no  doubt,  have  taught  him  to 
believe  that  he  likes  and  understands  Memling  better 
than  Carlo  Dolce,  but  is  this  a  real  attainment  of  his 
own?  Is  his  taste  truly  formed  in  any  lasting  sense?  I 
think  that  at  the  outset  of  his  acquaintance  with  the 
painters  he  ought  to  like  Carlo  Dolce  and  be  repelled 
by  Memling,  and  this  stage  of  his  development  ought 
to  last  until  he  grows  out  of  it  by  his  own  experience. 
Prettiness  should  precede  power,  and  it  is  idle  to  pre- 
tend that  we  see  things  until  they  really  force  them- 
selves on  our  inner  gaze  with  compelling  conviction. 
It  will  be  a  better  preparation  by  far  if  the  youth  can 
have  spent  his  time  in  learning  some  of  the  foundation 
things  of  human  progress  —  history,  languages  and 
literature,  gaining  in  this  way  the  subtle  sense  of 
beauty  and  order  which  shall  afterward  guide  him  in 
his  aesthetic  perception,  rather  than  have  taken  pre- 
cious time  from  these  things  which  he  can  do  and  do 
well  to  dabble  with  things  he  can  do  so  much  better 
afterward.  If  he  has  the  many  points  of  attachment 
that  a  liberal  education  ought  to  give  there  can  be  few 
things  in  his  travels  that  do  not  have  an  interest  of 
some  sort  for  him. 

On  one  point  I  feel  inclined  to  make  an  exception. 
The  understanding  of  architecture  depends  upon  so 
many  purely  technical  definitions  and  details  of  con- 
struction that  not  even  a  superficial  enjoyment  of  it 
is  possible  without  some  knowledge  of  these.  More- 


TRAVEL  AS  EDUCATION  223 

over  these  are  matters  that  can  easily  be  learned  at 
home,  since  our  own  architecture  is  not  yet  beyond 
the  imitation  of  the  great  styles.  Even  a  slight  ac- 
quaintance with  these  technicalities  immensely  in- 
creases the  enjoyment  of  architecture,  and  there  is  no 
form  of  art  so  pregnant  with  suggestions  of  the  highest 
educational  value.  In  the  presence  of  a  Gothic  cathe- 
dral one  is  brought  into  relation  not  only  with  the 
miracle  of  its  beauty  and  its  constructive  skill,  but 
with  the  vast  historical  development  for  which  it 
stands,  with  the  social  order  that  made  it  possible,  with 
the  religious  feeling  it  embodies  and  expresses,  and  with 
the  currents  of  active  present  life  in  which  it  has  a  part. 
I  am  almost  tempted  to  say  that  if  we  could  really  un- 
derstand the  Gothic  cathedral  we  should  hardly  need 
any  other  text-book  of  the  Middle  Ages. 

Bacon's  advice  not  to  stay  long  in  any  one  place  puz- 
zles me  a  little.  I  fancy  that  with  the  means  of  travel 
in  his  day  there  was  a  certain  temptation  to  linger,  to 
which  we  are  by  no  means  liable.  Our  temptation  is 
rather  to  rush  from  one  set  of  impressions  to  another 
before  we  have  time  to  let  any  of  them  really  sink  in. 
Our  caution,  I  think,  is  needed  rather  in  the  opposite 
direction;  and  yet  there  is  a  certain  danger  of  becom- 
ing, so  to  speak,  stale  as  a  traveller  if  we  allow  our- 
selves to  get  too  far  out  of  the  traveller's  attitude  and 
too  far  into  that  of  the  resident.  It  is  fatally  easy,  even 
in  a  place  so  full  of  suggestion  as  Rome,  to  let  oneself 
fall  back  into  the  little  familiarities  of  the  life  of  the 
place,  and  to  forget  that  after  all  we  are  there  precisely 
for  the  purpose  of  keeping  ourselves  fresh  in  the  en- 


224  LEARNING  AND  LIVING 

thusiasms  of  the  stranger.  Most  of  us,  I  suppose,  can 
recall  the  feeling  of  a  certain  superiority  with  which 
after  a  residence  of  a  few  days  we  begin  to  look  down  on 
the  new  arrival.  Especially  if  we  have  emancipated 
ourselves  from  the  servitude  of  the  hotel  and  taken 
lodgings  in  the  manner  of  the  place,  we  feel  ourselves 
entitled  to  be  a  little  blase  in  the  matter  of  sightseeing 
and  to  affect  that  indifference  we  all  feel  in  regard  to 
the  things  best  worth  seeing  in  our  own  homes.  Per- 
haps it  was  something  of  this  sort  that  Bacon  had  in 
mind  when  he  advised  his  traveller  to  move  on  pretty 
soon  or,  if  he  stay  longer,  to  change  his  lodgings  from 
one  end  of  the  town  to  the  other.  He  puts  this  last  bit 
of  advice  on  the  ground  of  attracting  a  wider  acquaint- 
ance, but  it  is  obvious  that  it  would  tend  also  to  break 
up  those  more  immediate  relations  that  might  draw  the 
visitor  from  his  main  purpose. 

On  the  other  hand,  it  is  clear  that  Bacon  distin- 
guishes very  sharply  between  travel  and  sightseeing. 
His  youth  is  to  see  the  sights,  but  obviously  the  knowl- 
edge of  men  and  manners  is  to  be  a  higher  object.  How 
far  can  we  hope  to  emulate  the  superior  young  man  for 
whom  the  philosopher  is  writing?  He  recommends 
him  "upon  his  removes  from  one  place  to  another  (to) 
procure  recommendation  to  some  person  of  quality 
residing  in  the  place  whither  he  removeth;  that  he 
may  use  his  favor  in  those  things  he  desireth  to  see  or 
know."  "As  for  the  acquaintance  which  is  to  be  sought 
in  travel "  he  adds  "  that  which  is  most  of  all  profitable 
is  acquaintance  with  the  secretaries  and  employed  men 
of  ambassadors;  for  so  in  travelling  in  one  country  he 


TRAVEL  AS  EDUCATION  225 

shall  suck  the  experience  of  many.  Let  him  also  see 
and  visit  eminent  persons  in  all  kinds,  which  are  of 
great  name  abroad;  that  he  may  be  able  to  tell  how  the 
life  agreeth  with  the  fame."  Another  sage  and  virtuous 
counsellor  of  youth,  the  admirable  Major  Pendennis, 
"would  as  soon  have  thought  of  not  calling  upon  the 
English  ambassador  in  a  continental  town,  as  of  not 
showing  himself  at  the  national  place  of  worship." 

I  fear  but  few  of  us  are  in  position  to  profit  by  Ba- 
con's advice.  In  the  present  conditions  of  travel  it  is 
appalling  to  think  of  the  fate  of  eminent  persons,  if 
they  were  to  become  the  victims  of  travellers'  curiosity 
to  see  how  their  lives  agreed  with  their  fame.  Most  of 
us  have  to  be  content  with  such  chance  acquaintance 
as  the  accidents  of  travel  may  offer.  If,  however,  we 
are  by  profession  or  through  any  other  serious  interest 
connected  with  any  individuals  or  classes  of  persons, 
we  are  doing  wrong  if  we  do  not  put  ourselves  in  com- 
munication with  them,  and  if  my  own  experience  is 
worth  anything,  we  may  be  sure  of  uniform  courtesy 
and  consideration.  Let  me  tell  one  little  incident  of 
travel  which  I  believe  to  be  typical.  Many  years  ago 
in  Rome  I  attended  one  of  the  public  lectures  given  by 
the  late  Gian  Battista  de  Rossi,  for  so  many  years  in 
charge  of  the  excavations  in  the  Catacombs.  At  the 
close  of  the  lecture,  in  place  of  all  introduction,  I  pre- 
sented my  card  and  told  him  what  my  occupation  was. 
He  was  most  polite,  excused  himself  on  the  ground  of 
pressing  engagements,  but  said  he  would  call  upon  me 
soon.  I  assumed  that  this  was  only  a  bit  of  Italian 
politeness  and  thought  no  more  of  the  matter  until 


226  LEARNING  AND  LIVING 

one  evening  I  was  surprised  to  hear  that  De  Rossi  was 
at  my  door.  He  had  hunted  up  my  obscure  lodging, 
climbed  the  three  flights  of  stairs,  and  gave  me  a  de- 
lightful half  hour.  But  that  was  not  all.  He  invited  me 
to  come  the  next  day  to  his  house  and  to  join  him  in  a 
drive  on  the  Campagna  and  a  visit  to  the  Catacomb  in 
which  he  was  then  at  work.  This  courtesy  cost  him  a 
full  half  day  but  gave  me  an  insight  into  his  subject 
which  no  other  living  man  could  have  given.  Almost 
without  exception  this  was  my  experience  whenever  I 
sought  the  acquaintance  of  any  one  on  the  basis  of  a 
professional  interest,  and  with  due  regard  to  his  per- 
sonal convenience.  Libraries  were  freely  opened  for 
my  use,  university  men  showed  me  their  equipments 
and  methods,  and  in  many  cases  life-long  acquaint- 
ances were  begun. 

The  moment,  however,  that  the  traveller  passes  out 
of  this  region  of  professional  connection,  he  is  pretty 
apt  to  find  himself  alone  in  the  crowd.  If  he  adopts  the 
principle  of  Major  Pendennis  and  seeks  his  own  am- 
bassador, he  is  likely  to  find  his  circle  of  acquaintance 
among  his  own  countrymen  inconveniently  enlarged, 
but  not  in  such  ways  as  really  add  much  to  his  knowl- 
edge of  the  country  he  is  in.  The  American  whose 
profession  it  is  to  live  abroad  may  be  a  most  charming 
fellow,  but  his  angle  of  observation  of  foreign  life  is  not 
the  most  favorable.  He  is  neither  American  nor  for- 
eign, but  shares  the  disadvantages  of  both  characters, 
and  is  none  too  ready  —  and  with  reason  —  to  admit 
his  fellow-countrymen  on  the  wing  to  his  intimacy. 
The  difficulty  of  really  making  connections  with  the 


TRAVEL  AS  EDUCATION  227 

kind  of  persons  we  would  like  best  to  know  has  led  to 
various  devices  on  the  part  of  Americans  to  bring 
about  fictitious  forms  of  association  among  themselves. 
American  churches  and  American  clubs  are  to  be  found 
in  the  larger  cities  and  sometimes  have  their  use,  but  I 
cannot  help  thinking  that  such  attempts  to  provide 
what  is,  I  believe,  called  a  "home  atmosphere"  for  the 
American  abroad  are  usually  misplaced.    The  great 
majority  of  those  for  whom  they  are  intended  would  be 
far  better  off  in  their  real  home  on  this  side  the  water. 
In  default  of  a  true  "society"  the  modern  traveller 
may  find  a  very  considerable  resource  in  the  European 
cafe  system.  There  is  hardly  a  town  in  Europe  so  small 
that  one  cannot  find  there  a  comfortable  resort  pro- 
vided with  a  choice  of  periodicals  from  the  principal 
countries  and  furnishing  the  kind  of  light  refreshment 
that  is  particularly  welcome  in  the  long  interval  be- 
tween lunch  and  dinner.   In  the  larger  cities  there  is  a 
wide  choice  of  such  meeting  places,  where  acquaint- 
ances begun  perhaps  accidentally  may  be  expanded 
into  agreeable  and  instructive  relations.   One's  recol- 
lections especially  of  the  German  " Kneipe"  with  its 
informal  good  fellowship,  its  free  discussions,  often 
unrestrained  to  the  point  of  brutality,  and  its  entire 
lack  of  social  obligation  form  one  of  the  most  valuable, 
if  not  always  one  of  the  most  refining  chapters  in  one's 
record  of  travel.  The  typical  American  is  essentially  a 
home  keeper.  He  likes  to  have  his  friends  about  him  in 
his  own  home  and  to  visit  them  in  theirs.    It  is  only 
after  some  experience  with  the  freer  out  of  doors  life  of 
continental  Europe  that  he  learns  how  great  a  limita- 


228  LEARNING  AND  LIVING 

tion  this  unconscious  cxclusiveness  places  upon  his 
best  intellectual  development.  In  Europe  he  learns  to 
enjoy  this  aspect  of  social  life,  but  once  at  home  again 
the  old  traditions,  chiefly  of  English  origin,  reassert 
themselves,  and  he  cannot  get  far  beyond  the  stage  of 
grumbling  at  conditions  he  is  powerless  to  alter.  Even 
the  melancholy  spectacle  of  a  theatre  audience  sitting 
bolt  upright  for  three  hours,  wasting  the  entre  actes  in 
listening  to  cheap  music  or  munching  caramels,  moves 
neither  public  nor  managers  to  reform.  And  now  that 
the  gasoline  car  has  come,  apparently  to  stay,  the 
American's  highest  ideal  is  not  to  convey  himself  and 
his  family  to  some  delightful  open  air  meeting  place 
where  in  congenial  company  they  could  enjoy  the  best 
of  music  and  such  refreshment  as  each  person  wished 
to  pay  for,  but  to  shut  his  party  within  the  car  doors 
and  go  tearing  about  the  world  in  a  vague  pursuit  of 
change. 

The  educative  value  of  foreign  travel  depends  upon 
the  attitude  we  take  toward  the  things  other  countries 
have  to  offer  us.  One  is  tempted  to  divide  travellers 
into  two  classes,  those  who  think  of  everything  not 
their  own  as  superior  to  whatever  is  familiar  to  them, 
and  those  who  look  down  with  a  certain  suspicion  and 
ill-concealed  contempt  upon  what  lies  outside  their 
own  narrow  range  of  vision.  The  former  are  filled  with 
indiscriminate  admiration  for  everything;  the  latter 
see  nothing  good  except  as  it  proves  the  superiority  of 
what  they  have  left  behind.  The  wise  traveller  keeps 
himself  free  from  both  these  extremes.  He  is  concerned 
chiefly  to  see  how  things  really  are.  He  would  under- 


TRAVEL  AS  EDUCATION  229 

stand  them  if  he  can,  in  the  light  of  their  history  and 
their  relation  to  other  things.  Just  as  the  most  in- 
tolerable of  companions  is  one  who  sees  the  world  only 
in  the  light  of  his  own  experiences,  so  the  most  unbear- 
able of  travellers  is  he  who  brings  everything  foreign 
to  the  standards  of  his  own  country,  whether  it  be  to 
praise  or  to  condemn. 

I  had  the  pleasure,  during  one  of  my  visits  to  Italy, 
to  be  the  guest  of  two  American  friends  in  their  villas 
outside  the  walls  of  an  ancient  city.  One  of  these 
friends  gave  us  for  luncheon  cod-fish  ballsjohnny-cake, 
and  maple  syrup.  His  bed-rooms  were  furnished  with 
the  choicest  products  of  Grand  Rapids,  Michigan.  His 
purpose  was,  as  he  explained,  to  show  his  Italian 
friends  how  much  better  things  we  had  in  America 
than  poor  old  Europe  could  produce.  Our  other  host 
would  tolerate  nothing  that  was  not  precisely  con- 
temporary with  the  building  he  was  restoring  for  oc- 
cupation. Even  to  the  hinges  on  the  doors  everything 
must  be  picked  up  in  antique  shops  or  gathered  by  long 
and  careful  research  among  the  crumbling  treasures  of 
the  land  he  had  learned  to  love.  Perhaps  these  are  ex- 
treme cases;  but  they  serve  to  illustrate  the  two  tend- 
encies of  the  traveller  I  am  trying  to  describe.  Neither 
of  these  highly  cultivated  gentlemen  seemed  to  me  to 
have  hit  upon  the  happiest  solution  of  the  traveller's 
problem,  for  that  must  be  found  in  a  due  valuation  of 
both  the  present  and  the  past,  of  both  that  which  is 
one's  own  and  that  which  is  foreign. 

One  of  the  commonest  impressions  of  the  American 
abroad  is  that  all  Europeans  are  a  kind  of  overgrown, 


230  LEARNING  AND  LIVING 

over-civilized,  over-developed  children.  They  seem  to 
be  moved  far  more  than  we  are  by  primitive  impulses  of 
fear,  of  hatred,  of  violent  passion,  especially  of  that 
intangible  thing  they  like  to  call  "personal  honor," 
but  which  appears  to  us  only  an  exaggerated  form  of 
egotistical  "touchiness."  We  wonder  good  naturedly 
at  their  devotion  to  the  silly  fictions  of  royalty  and 
nobility.  We  smile  at  their  simple  joy  in  titles  and  dec- 
orations. We  chafe  at  their  easy  assumptions  of  su- 
periority. All  these  things,  we  flatter  ourselves  we, 
the  only  grown-ups  in  the  world,  have  permanently 
outgrown.  We  forget,  that  if  it  had  not  been  for  the 
sentiments  underlying  all  these  puzzling  phenomena 
there  would  be  little  in  Europe  worth  our  while  to 
visit.  A  colleague  of  mine  reared  in  the  Far  West  could 
at  first  hardly  contain  his  impatience  at  the  slowness 
and  conservativeness  of  New  England.  "Why  don't 
these  Bostonians  rip  out  their  confounded  crooked 
streets  "  he  said  to  me  once  "  and  run  some  nice  straight 
modern  ones  through  their  business  sections?"  Two 
years  afterward  I  visited  with  him  a  house  in  Lexing- 
ton, Massachusetts,  where  for  two  hundred  years  the 
same  family  had  made  its  home,  and  where  a  group  of 
maiden  sisters  and  bachelor  brothers,  themselves  the 
most  exquisite  specimens  in  the  collection,  had  gath- 
ered about  them  roomfuls  of  precious  memorials  of  the 
past  upon  which  they  lived.  As  we  came  away  my 
friend  was  silent  for  a  long  time,  then  broke  out:  "Now 
I  know  why  New  Englanders  are  conservative;  they've 
got  something  to  conserve!"  That  is  the  attitude  we, 
as  travellers,  ought  to  try  to  keep  if  we  desire  to  gain 


TRAVEL  AS  EDUCATION  231 

from  our  travel  the  kind  of  education  it  may  hold  for 
us.  It  will  do  us  good  to  remember  that  the  American 
Spirit,  splendid  as  it  is  in  its  readiness  to  "match  with 
Destiny  for  beers  "  is,  after  all,  not  the  perfect  flower  of 
the  ages,  but  only  the  noble  promise  of  the  greatest 
things  to  come. 


THE  ACADEMIC  STUDY  OF  HISTORY 

AN  ADDRESS  TO  STUDENTS 

1  PROPOSE  to  speak  to  you  about  the  study  of  His- 
tory in  college,  in  the  hope  that  what  I  have  to  say 
may  be  of  some  help  to  you  in  settling  the  perplexing 
question  of  your  choice  of  work  in  this  department.  I 
shall  speak  of  the  value,  the  purpose  and  the  method  of 
historical  study,  and  shall  assume  that  you  are  all  in- 
terested in  getting  at  some  principles,  if  such  there  be, 
which  shall  guide  you  in  your  future  work. 

It  may,  at  first  thought,  seem  a  waste  of  time  to  talk 
about  the  value  of  History  in  a  community  of  students 
who  already  spend  every  year  so  large  a  part  of  their 
energies  in  that  field.  There  are  many  commonplaces 
on  the  subject  with  which  I  might  now  entertain  you  — 
such  as  the  ennobling  effect  of  contemplating  the  strug- 
gles and  the  victories  of  the  great  of  all  time,  the  lofty 
lessons  we  may  learn  from  their  example,  and  the  train- 
ing of  the  mind  which  may  result  from  the  study  itself. 
The  topic  has  always  been  a  favorite  one  on  academic 
occasions,  and  you  will  find  many  fine  orations  upon  it. 
Even  if  one  considers  only  the  numbers  of  men  enrolled 
in  our  courses  of  historical  instruction,  one  must  be- 
lieve that  our  students  do  not  need  to  be  reminded  of 
these  things,  that  they  are  already  sufficiently  alive  to 
the  value  of  History  for  them  and  may  safely  be  left  to 
themselves  to  get  out  of  the  instruction  offered  them  all 
there  is  in  it. 


333 


234  LEARNING  AND  LIVING 

And  yet,  I  think  there  are  still  one  or  two  points  of 
which  we  all  need  to  be  reminded,  lest  we  apply  our 
force  in  the  wrong  ways  and  the  wrong  place.  We  may 
easily  forget,  in  the  pursuit  of  this  or  that  branch  of 
History  that  there  is,  after  all,  such  a  thing  as  History 
itself,  that  there  is  now  a  recognized  science  of  his- 
torical study,  with  its  organs,  its  associations,  its  meth- 
ods, fairly  well  understood  and  producing  really  great 
results.  So  the  first  point  that  I  would  bring  to  your 
earnest  attention  is  that  History  is  all  one  thing,  the 
continuous,  uninterrupted  story  of  man's  life  on  this 
earth,  as  far  as  this  life  is  revealed  to  us  in  trustworthy 
records.  The  program  of  instruction  in  this  college  has 
often  been  criticized  because  it  contains  no  course 
specifically  planned  to  impress  upon  the  student  this 
fact  of  the  unity  of  History,  and  to  furnish,  either  as  an 
introduction  to  or  the  completion  of  your  work  that 
broad,  comprehensive  view  of  our  whole  science  which 
might  serve  to  interpret  to  you  the  meaning  of  its 
several  parts.  Excepting,  therefore,  as  your  individ- 
ual instructors  feel  this  need  and  endeavor  to  supply  it, 
you  are  left  to  yourselves  to  fit  into  their  proper  places 
in  the  whole  long  story,  the  brief  chapters  you  have 
time  for  in  your  academic  life. 

And  this  I  urge  you  to  do,  because  herein  lies  for  me 
the  chief  value  of  this  academic  study  of  History.  As 
you  approach  your  topic  it  is  spread  before  you  in  the 
books  as  a  more  or  less  ordered  mass  of  separate  events 
with  a  tedious  accompaniment  of  dates  and  a  weari- 
some amount  of  reference  to  places  you  never  heard  of. 
Your  work  presents  itself  to  you  as  the  act  of  getting, 


ACADEMIC  STUDY  OF  HISTORY      235 

somehow  or  other,  this  mass  of  material  into  your 
memory,  and  the  prospect  is  not  an  agreeable  one.  Nor 
does  the  thought  of  your  work  become  more  inspiring 
so  long  as  you  continue  in  that  spirit  toward  it.  You 
simply  find  yourself  involved  more  and  more  deeply  in 
a  maze  of  undigested  ideas,  and  you  may  even  quit 
your  study  in  disgust,  as  thousands  before  you  have 
done,  and  vote  the  study  of  History  a  bore  and  a  waste 
of  time.  For  my  part,  I  should  be  the  last  to  blame 
you.  Rather  I  should  be  inclined  to  put  the  blame  of 
your  defeat,  not  upon  you,  but  only  upon  the  fact  that 
you  had  not  been  led  to  see  how  the  detail  you  had  been 
reading  bore  upon  the  final  result.  There  is  no  more 
cruel  criticism  of  a  play  or  a  novel  than  to  say  that  its 
acts  or  its  chapters  do  not  all  tell  upon  the  solution  of 
the  plot.  They  must  be  planned  so  that  when  you 
close  the  book  or  rise  from  your  seat  in  the  theatre 
you  feel  that  book  or  play  must  have  moved  on  in  just 
this  way  and  no  other  in  order  to  produce  the  result 
aimed  at. 

There  is  no  more  dreary  occupation  than  to  read 
chapter  after  chapter  of  an  historical  work  in  which  the 
narrative  seems  to  have  no  relation  to  the  great  current 
of  contemporary  human  life  and  thought.  There  is  no 
more  fatal  delusion  about  our  study  than  the  notion 
that  anybody  can  study  History  for  himself  if  only  he 
will  get  the  right  books  and  read  enough  pages  in  them. 
This  idea  has  been  the  bane  of  historical  instruction, 
because  it  has  brought  so  much  emphasis  upon  this 
element  of  reading,  as  if,  out  of  the  multitude  of  words, 
somehow  the  training  was  to  be  evolved.  Of  course, 


236  LEARNING  AND  LIVING 

the  great  mass  of  facts  must  be  acquired  by  a  process  of 
reading  and  learning,  and  this  you  must  in  any  case  do 
for  yourself.  We  are  speaking  now  of  the  study  of 
History  in  college,  where  you  have  at  your  service  the 
labors  of  a  group  of  men  trained  to  help  you  in  gaining 
what  you  cannot  so  readily  gain  by  your  own  effort. 

This  is  always  the  great  problem  of  students  under 
an  elective  system:  how  best  to  utilize  the  teaching 
force  at  their  command.  If  there  is  any  value  in  aca- 
demic study  at  all  —  and  on  this  point  opinions  differ 
—  it  is  just  this:  that  it  can  give  something  which  can- 
not be  got  by  the  isolated  scholar,  and  it  should  be  the 
chief  anxiety  of  every  serious  student  to  discover  who 
will  give  him  the  most  help.  Now  that  does  not  mean, 
who  will  do  for  him  the  largest  share  of  work  which  he 
might  better  do  alone,  but  who  will  teach  him  to  work 
by  himself  with  the  greatest  profit. 

One  hears  often  of  the  value  of  historical  study  as  a 
discipline  for  the  mind,  but  I  am  not  inclined  to  lay 
any  very  great  weight  on  that  part  of  our  subject. 
Here,  as  in  every  other  part  of  education,  discipline 
comes  whenever  the  work  is  done  with  all  one's  might, 
and  one  can  do  with  the  might  only  that  in  which  one  is 
honestly  interested,  while,  conversely,  one's  interest 
increases  the  deeper  one  goes  into  any  study.  I  doubt 
very  much  whether  one  can  point  very  definitely  to 
special  discipline  of  the  mind  acquired  by  classical  or 
mathematical,  or  historical  study  and  check  that  off  as 
so  much  clear  result  of  his  academic  years.  On  the 
whole,  it  may  well  be  that  the  mind  gets  the  best  dis- 
cipline when  it  thinks  least  about  it  and  simply  goes 


ACADEMIC  STUDY  OF  HISTORY      237 

right  on  acquiring  and  practising  in  the  line  of  its  work, 
whatever  that  may  be.  If  one  gains  any  special  mental 
training  from  historical  study,  it  is  that  the  mind  falls 
into  the  habit  of  weighing  human  motives  and  balanc- 
ing them  one  against  the  other,  so  that  one  is  less  likely 
to  be  led  away  by  false  motives,  less  likely  to  think  of 
human  events  as  determined  by  single  causes,  and  more 
likely  to  believe  that  all  events  are  the  resultant  of 
very  complicated  causes,  some  of  which  he  may  see 
clearly,  but  of  which  many  are  sure  to  escape  him. 

The  outcome  of  historical  study  ought  to  be  that  one 
should  reach  a  middle  ground  between  that  first  simple 
and  childish  impression,  that  History  is  the  record  of 
the  passions  and  feelings  of  a  few  great  men  carried  out 
into  action  and  that  other,  seemingly  more  philosoph- 
ical but  hardly  less  narrow  view  which  would  make  the 
men  of  history  only  the  blind  products  and  agents  of 
forces  they  are  powerless  to  direct  or  to  control.  If  the 
mind  can  once  get  permanently  into  that  condition  of 
fairness,  so  that  it  can  approach  all  questions  of  human 
life  in  this  impartial  spirit,  this  is  certainly  one  gain  to 
be  set  down  to  the  credit  of  historical  study. 

And  another  gain  there  ought  to  be,  a  gain  which  the 
study  of  History  shares  with  the  study  of  the  Law,  and 
that  is  the  power  of  sifting  human  evidence.  The  pop- 
ular impression  is  that  all  of  History  is  in  the  standard 
books  and  that  it  is  all  true,  as  we  there  find  it.  You  all 
know  with  what  reverence  the  English-speaking  world 
has  been  accustomed  to  say:  "Macaulay  says"  or 
"Gibbon  relates,"  as  if  that  settled  the  matter  forever. 
There  is  still  a  sort  of  blind  reverence  for  historians, 


238  LEARNING  AND  LIVING 

chiefly  among  those  who  have  least  acquaintance  with 
them,  as  if  the  mere  fact  of  having  put  on  paper  some 
part  of  this  wonderful  human  story  entitled  a  man  at 
once  to  our  fullest  confidence.  On  the  other  hand, 
there  has  been  growing  among  intelligent  persons  a 
critical,  often  an  over-critical  attitude  toward  the 
traditions  of  History.  Scholars  have  busied  themselves 
for  many  years  with  the  original  records  of  the  past  in 
the  sole  purpose  of  discovering  upon  what  they  are 
based,  and  things  have  gone  so  far  in  this  direction 
that  it  was  possible  for  a  famous  orator,  on  one  of  the 
most  important  occasions  at  this  university,  to  say  that 
History  was  one-half  error  and  the  other  half  lies.  I 
wonder  if  it  ever  occurred  to  him  and  to  those  who  ape 
his  words,  that  in  order  to  be  sure  of  errors  and  false- 
hoods we  must  first  be  sure  of  accuracy  and  truth,  and 
that  it  is  only  by  the  process  of  sound  historical  inquiry 
that  these  can  be  ascertained.  It  is  in  that  process  that 
the  discipline  we  are  here  considering  may  be  attained. 

The  point  firmly  fixed  by  all  this  criticism  is  that 
every  alleged  historical  fact  must  rest  upon  evidence 
and  that  the  study  of  history  must  consist  largely  in  the 
discovery  and  sifting  of  this  evidence.  It  has  been  one 
of  the  chief  satisfactions  of  my  professional  life  to 
watch  in  my  students  the  gradual  disappearance  of  the 
attitude  of  childish  faith  in  the  printed  word  and  the 
growth  of  a  fair  critical  temper.  The  lesson  they  have 
thus  learned  will  not  be  confined  to  History,  but  will 
go  on  to  all  the  other  subjects  of  their  thought  and  put 
new  life  into  their  whole  mental  action. 

But  it  will  be  said,  and  with  a  certain  truth,  that  the 


ACADEMIC  STUDY  OF  HISTORY      239 

mental  discipline  which  may  come  from  the  study  of 
History  may  come  also  and  equally  well  from  many 
other  kinds  of  study.  Let  us  see  if  there  are  any  special 
gains  from  this  science  which  are  not  shared  equally  by 
others.  I  say  little  of  the  essential  and  permanent 
charm  of  History  arising  from  the  mere  fact  that  it  deals 
with  men  and  what  they  have  achieved.  This  charm 
too  it  shares  with  poetry  and  romance  and  with  the 
most  attractive  forms  of  art.  History  should,  for  this 
reason  if  for  no  other,  claim  the  attention  of  every  man 
who  wishes  to  know  his  kind,  and  there  is  little  doubt 
that  it  will  always  hold  that  attention.  Even  on  this 
ground  it  might  demand  a  large  place  in  an  academic 
program,  where  there  should  be  room  for  all  that  can 
tend  to  elevate  the  taste  and  cultivate  the  sense  of 
what  is  lofty  as  well  as  merely  to  store  the  mind  with 
useful  knowledge.  There  is  a  practical  side  to  the 
study  of  History  which  should  commend  it  especially 
to  the  young  American.  It  is  the  only  study  by  which 
we  can  come  to  a  true  knowledge  of  those  principles  of 
government  on  which  our  state  is  built  and  on  the 
preservation  of  which  our  political  liberties  depend. 

There  was  in  America  until  rather  recent  years  a 
singular  indifference  to  the  value  of  History  as  a  guide 
for  the  life  of  to-day.  Our  conditions  here  have  seemed 
to  be  so  new;  the  vast  resources  of  our  country  have 
seemed  to  make  us  so  independent  of  all  outside  in- 
fluence; the  demands  upon  our  activities  have  been  so 
great  and  so  pressing,  that  we  have  imagined  ourselves 
quite  sufficient  to  ourselves  in  every  respect.  The  ex- 
periments of  the  Old  World  had  failed  to  bring  about 


240  LEARNING  AND  LIVING 

those  conditions  in  government  and  in  society  that 
seemed  of  most  value  to  us,  and  therefore  we  could 
not  see  why  we  should  spend  the  precious  time  of  these 
busy  days  in  learning  the  story  of  that  failure.  Rather, 
we  said,  let  us  think  only  of  the  future  and  go  on  work- 
ing out  our  own  salvation  in  the  abounding  hope  and 
courage  of  a  young  and  a  healthy  people.  A  nation 
must  make  its  own  history.  That  is  true;  but  it  can 
never  for  any  great  length  of  time  afford  to  forget 
that  the  problems  of  human  society  are  ever  recurring 
phases  of  the  one  great  problem  of  good  and  free  gov- 
ernment, and  that  the  experience  of  the  past,  however 
full  of  failures,  is  full  also  of  lessons  and  of  warnings  for 
all  who  may  come  after. 

There  can  be  but  one  thing  worse  than  a  blind  fol- 
lowing of  foreign  traditions,  and  that  is  a  blind  devo- 
tion to  our  own.  The  great  war  has  been  driving  this 
principle  into  the  American  consciousness,  but  long 
before  that  we  had  begun  to  wake  up  to  its  truth  and 
the  study  of  History  had  begun  to  take  the  place  it 
deserves  among  the  sciences  taught  at  our  higher 
schools,  and  is  even  making  its  way  down  into  our 
lower  instruction.  From  there  it  should  enter  into  the 
living  thought  of  our  people  and  so  become  one  of  the 
great  permanent  forces  that  are  molding  our  nation's 
life.  There  is  much  truth  in  the  idea  that  the  highest 
statesmanship  lies  in  the  right  decision  of  questions  as 
they  occur  rather  than  in  the  forming  and  carrying  out 
of  far  reaching  schemes  of  policy;  but  it  is  also  true 
that  there  must  be  behind  all  successful  opportunism 
high  ideals  and  wise  forethought  or,  when  the  moment 


ACADEMIC  STUDY  OF  HISTORY      241 

comes,  the  training  which  shall  teach  men  to  make  the 
right  use  of  it  will  be  wanting.  One  of  the  results  of  this 
awakened  sense  of  the  value  of  a  knowledge  of  the  past 
for  the  life  of  the  present  is  seen  in  the  rich  program  of 
historical  instruction  spread  before  you  in  this  place. 

A  short  generation  ago  the  teaching  of  History  in  our 
colleges  was  done  mainly  by  men  who  had  some  other 
department  as  their  specialty  but  were  put  at  this  work 
because  it  was  believed  that  any  scholarly  minded 
gentleman  who  had  read  enough  books  was  capable  of 
teaching  History.  It  is  not  so  very  long  since  the  pro- 
fessorship of  History  at  Oxford  was  given  as  the  reward 
of  a  successful  literary  career  without  regard  to  the 
training  of  the  candidate  in  the  methods  of  historical 
investigation  or  teaching.  Now  all  this  has  pretty  well 
disappeared.  Special  chairs  of  History  have  been 
established  in  all  colleges  of  repute,  and  men  are  called 
to  them  who  have  served  an  apprenticeship  in  the  art 
of  historical  inquiry  or  who  have  made  a  successful 
record  as  teachers.  So  you  see  that  in  entering  upon 
this  discipline  you  are  not  in  the  position  of  the  isolated 
reader  sitting  down  in  his  study  to  entertain  himself 
with  the  story  of  what  his  fellow-men  have  done,  but 
you  are  workmen  in  a  wide  field  of  inquiry,  with  a 
multitude  of  fellow-workers  about  you,  with  the  ma- 
chinery of  a  great  science  ready  at  your  service  and 
with  well-recognized  methods  for  getting  at  the  kind  of 
truth  the  historian  seeks. 

So  far  we  have  been  considering  the  value  of  his- 
torical study  as  a  reason  why  it  may  well  occupy  a 
large  share  of  a  college  student's  attention.  How,  with 


242  LEARNING  AND  LIVING 

all  these  favoring  circumstances  shall  we  define  its  pur- 
pose? Training  of  the  mind,  a  knowledge  of  that  hu- 
man life  which  is  always  the  supreme  interest  of  man, 
the  basis  of  all  literature  and  all  art  —  these  values 
indicate  the  more  immediate  and  direct  purposes  you 
may  properly  have  in  mind  as  you  prepare  your  pro- 
grams of  study.  But  beyond  these  there  lies  the  more 
remote  and  more  compelling  purpose  of  becoming,  by 
so  much,  better  citizens  of  the  Republic.  It  is  not 
merely  that  the  great  statesman  of  the  future  must  be 
something  more  than  a  mere  opportunist.  The  citizen 
who  holds  no  public  place  nor  wishes  to  do  so  —  if 
such  there  be  in  America  —  must  learn  to  have  such  a 
clear  grasp  of  political  questions  that  he  will  not  be  the 
sport  of  every  demagogue  who  tells  him  a  pleasing 
story,  but  can  see  for  himself  what  he  would  like  to 
have  done  and  can  apply  his  best  effort  to  getting  it 
done. 

If  he  is  told  that  our  conditions  are  so  different  from 
those  of  other  peoples  that  we  can  afford  to  neglect 
their  experience,  he  must  be  able  to  look  back  for  him- 
self to  the  history  of  free  institutions  in  Greece,  in 
Italy,  in  Switzerland  and  France,  and  above  all  in  Eng- 
land, to  estimate  how  these  have  differed  among 
themselves  and  in  what  points  we  are  like  the  peoples 
of  these  older  states.  If  he  is  called  upon,  as  any  of 
you  may  be,  to  help  in  the  administration  of  our  great 
and  growing  cities,  he  must  know  something  of  the 
constitutions  of  Athens,  of  Corinth,  of  Venice  and 
Florence.  As  he  reads  the  history  of  any  one  of  these 
earlier  republics  he  will  be  amazed  to  find  in  how  many 


ACADEMIC  STUDY  OF  HISTORY      243 

particulars  their  problems  were  the  same  as  ours.  For 
example,  we  are  brought  up  to  believe  that  universal 
suffrage  is  the  cure-all  for  every  political  disease-.  That 
is  a  very  simple  proposition,  but  its  value  can  be  tested 
only  by  one  who  knows  something  of  the  multitude  of 
experiments  out  of  which  that  theory  has  grown.  The 
principle  of  universal  suffrage  seems  to  have  reached 
its  triumphant  vindication  in  these  latest  days,  but 
that  very  triumph  is  revealing,  almost  before  it  begins 
its  activity,  the  weaknesses  and  dangers  it  involves. 
Extravagant  democracy  is  beginning  already  to  beget 
that  sense  of  perplexity  and  confusion  out  of  which  men 
have  always  sought  relief  in  the  leadership  of  trusted 
individuals. 

The  argument  against  universal  suffrage  can  be  met 
only  by  men  who  have  the  power  to  grasp  all  the  ele- 
ments of  the  problem,  and  that  power  can  come  only 
through  a  study  of  the  experience  of  the  world  with 
this  very  issue.  Or,  take  the  principle  of  the  right  of 
the  majority  to  determine  the  policy  of  the  whole  com- 
munity. To  us  Americans  that  seems  to  be  almost  an 
innate  idea,  so  early  do  we  begin  in  our  childish  sports 
to  put  it  into  practice.  A  study  of  the  history  of  elec- 
toral methods  would  show  us  that  this  idea  has  been 
very  slowly  evolved  from  a  long  series  of  experiments, 
that  it  is  at  best  only  a  device  to  carry  on  a  political 
system  when  all  other  methods  had  failed  to  work. 

So  it  would  be  with  every  great  social  problem.  For 
example,  the  whole  vexed  question  of  the  political,  in- 
dustrial, and  intellectual  status  of  women.  It  is  a  very 
simple  proposition  to  say  that  a  woman  has  a  right  to 


244  LEARNING  AND  LIVING 

be  anything  she  can  be,  and  that  all  the  accumulations 
of  capital  and  energy  which  until  now  have  been  de- 
voted mainly  to  the  preparation  of  men  for  the  work  of 
life  ought  now  to  be  equally  shared  by  women.  If  one 
accepts  that  proposition  without  reflection  one  is  hur- 
ried on  irresistibly  to  the  extreme  conclusions  of  the 
party  of  the  Left.  At  the  present  moment  it  seems  as 
if  this  extreme  emphasis  on  the  question  of  right  as 
against  every  other  consideration  were  about  to  be 
accepted  by  the  world  calling  itself  civilized.  If  so, 
then  we  may  be  sure  that  those  considerations  of  wis- 
dom and  expediency  that  are  for  the  moment  being 
disregarded  will  assert  themselves  again  and  demand  a 
readjustment  of  the  balance.  The  citizen  who  desires 
to  sift  out  the  true  from  the  false  must  go  back  and  in- 
form himself  as  to  the  conditions  of  those  peoples 
among  whom  the  nearest  approach  to  the  desired  end 
has  been  reached.  He  must  ask  himself  why  it  is  that 
this  question  comes  up  to  us  now  and  why  it  takes  the 
forms  it  does.  He  must  read  the  history  of  those  com- 
munities where  the  equality  of  men  and  women  has 
been  realized  and  ask  himself  if  the  results  are  such  as 
to  make  him  wish  to  use  his  influence  to  extend  that 
condition.  He  must  inquire  whether  there  really  is  any 
fundamental  reason  why  difference  of  sex  should  draw 
any  hard  and  fast  line  between  rights  or  occupations 
and  how  far  that  difference  has  influenced  the  course 
of  human  history. 

The  same  may  be  said  of  the  crusade  against  al- 
cohol. Under  the  pressure  of  a  cruel  necessity,  the  na- 
tions were  roused  to  a  quickened  sense  of  a  great  social 


ACADEMIC  STUDY  OF  HISTORY      245 

evil  and  took  drastic  measures  to  lessen  it.  We  in 
America  with  our  bolder  idealism  and  our  pathetic 
faith  in  the  virtue  of  legislation  have  rushed  to  the  ex- 
treme and  abolished  the  evil  thing  without  much 
thought  of  consequences.  Rightly  to  estimate  the 
value  of  arguments  on  both  sides,  we  should  have  to 
inquire  into  the  history  of  sumptuary  laws  in  all  coun- 
tries and  at  all  times.  We  should  ask  whether  the 
evils  aimed  at  were  really  removed,  and  if  they  were, 
whether  the  society  in  question  was  thereby  on  the 
whole  advanced  along  the  road  of  civic  virtue.  On  the 
answer  to  such  historical  inquiries  would  depend  our 
attitude  toward  the  whole  question  of  repressive  legis- 
lation. I  do  not  say,  and  I  do  not  believe,  that  History 
would  furnish  complete  answers  to  all  these  and  similar 
problems,  and  I  should  be  the  last  person  to  counsel 
the  use  of  History  as  a  check  upon  social  experiment. 
I  am  only  reminding  you  that  it  may  contribute  valu- 
able factors  to  the  solution  of  social  problems,  and 
that  without  this  contribution  no  solution  can  ever  be 
complete. 

We  come  to  the  question  of  method  in  historical 
study.  This  may  seem  to  you  to  be  a  subject  rather  for 
teachers  than  for  students,  but  happily  there  is  no  such 
gulf  between  us  that  what  concerns  the  one  is  not  a 
matter  of  vital  concern  to  the  others.  The  student  may 
receive  recommendation  from  his  teacher,  but  unless  he 
is  convinced  that  the  method  recommended  to  him  is 
the  best  for  him  just  here  and  now,  the  recommenda- 
tion will  not  have  much  effect.  It  would  be  well  for 
every  student  if  in  selecting  the  courses  of  study  he 


246  LEARNING  AND  LIVING 

proposes  to  follow  he  should  allow  this  question  of 
method  to  enter  quite  as  largely  as  any  other  into  his 
choice,  and  to  do  this  he  must,  of  course,  inform  him- 
self as  to  the  different  possible  methods.  First  and 
most  obvious  is  the  method  of  reading.  In  the  English 
academic  tradition  the  word  "reading"  is  synonymous 
with  studying.  One  "reads"  for  a  degree;  one  joins  a 
"reading  party  "for  the  holidays.  I  once  heard  a  man 
of  singular  brilliancy  in  certain  kinds  of  intellectual 
effort  say,  that  his  method  of  studying  a  period  of  his- 
tory was  to  take  a  book  —  almost  any  one  would  do  — 
on  that  period  and  read  it  through  as  fast  as  he  could, 
then  another  and  another  in  the  same  way,  until  he 
had  exhausted  his  available  material.  Then  he  would 
read  novels,  plays,  and  poems  on  the  same  subjects, 
and  the  residuum  of  all  this  readingwould  be  his  knowl- 
edge of  the  period.  I  will  not  say  that  that  method 
might  not  do  wonders  for  just  that  man,  gifted  as  he 
was  with  a  phenomenal  memory  for  petty  details  and 
with  an  imagination  vivid  enough  to  hold  all  this  mass 
of  scattered  material  together  by  its  dramatic  power. 
If  I  were  to  recommend  it  to  any  average  student,  or 
indeed  to  any  man  without  these  precise  gifts,  I 
should  expect  the  result  to  be  disastrous.  He  would 
probably  come  out  of  the  experiment  with  a  most 
curious  hodge-podge  of  ideas  without  order  or  con- 
tinuity. 

This  may  well  be  called  the  extravagance  of  the 
reading  method.  A  more  reasonable  form  of  it  would 
be  to  choose  books  with  greater  care,  to  read  only  those 
written  by  the  best  equipped  authors  and  to  read  them 


ACADEMIC  STUDY  OF  HISTORY      247 

with  greater  deliberation.  That  would  probably  give 
better  results;  the  reader  would  be  sure  that  he  had  be- 
hind him  the  authority  of  persons  of  recognized  merit, 
and,  using  authors  of  reputation  known  to  be  on  op- 
posite sides  of  great  controverted  questions,  he  might 
fairly  feel  that  he  had  gone  far  toward  gaining  a  real 
insight  into  the  times  he  is  studying.  To  be  sure,  he 
would  probably  have  moments  when  he  would  wonder 
what  use  there  is  in  learning  what  two  equally  learned 
doctors  think  of  a  given  case  if  after  all  their  con- 
clusions are  exactly  opposite.  He  will  perhaps  hastily 
end  his  study  by  concluding  that  there  is  no  such  thing 
as  truth  in  History,  and  that  his  time  so  far  has  been 
wasted. 

There  are  two  weak  points  in  this  reading  method. 
One  is  that  until  it  has  been  carried  on  for  years  one 
does  not  arrive  at  that  historical  perspective  of  which 
I  have  been  speaking.  As  one  reads  on,  book  after 
book,  his  perspective  instead  of  becoming  clearer  is 
likely  to  grow  more  indistinct.  Much  reading  does  not 
of  necessity  give  the  ability  to  make  the  given  bit  of 
knowledge  fit  into  its  place  in  the  general  view,  and 
without  that  sort  of  fitting  in  the  whole  subject  be- 
comes dreary  and  therefore  unprofitable.  The  method 
of  reading,  then,  demands  that  it  be  supplemented  by 
careful  study  and  reflection  upon  the  relations  of  the 
piece  of  history  one  is  studying  to  the  rest  of  the  hu- 
man story.  And  this  is  precisely  what  the  college 
teacher  can  supply.  Without  the  aid  of  an  experienced 
guide  it  is  next  to  impossible  for  the  young  reader  of 
History  to  tell  what  his  book  really  means.  In  the 


248  LEARNING  AND  LIVING 

mass  of  detail  he  finds  the  larger  movement  of  the 
time  slipping  away  from  him.  He  cannot  see  the  or- 
ganic connection  between  phenomena  which  seem  to 
come  from  entirely  different  causes  and  to  be  tending 
toward  entirely  different  results. 

Certainly  in  the  earlier  stages  of  his  work  he  must 
depend  upon  wider  experience  for  aid  in  tracing  out 
these  often  complicated  movements.  His  attention 
once  drawn  to  these  things  he  is  able  to  see  how  they 
affect  all  his  study,  but  it  would  not  have  been  possible 
for  him  to  grasp  them  for  himself.  For  example:  if  one 
wished  to  study  the  history  of  the  Protestant  Reforma- 
tion, he  would  naturally  go  to  books  which  bear  that 
title.  He  would  find  them  dealing  with  a  certain  his- 
toric period,  and  he  would  fancy  that  when  he  had  got 
through  with  them  he  would  know  what  the  Reforma- 
tion meant.  It  is  not  his  fault  that  writers  have 
generally  neglected  or  passed  over  with  scant  attention 
many  of  the  most  important  elements  of  that  great 
movement  and  have  confined  themselves  to  the  recital 
of  events  which  may  better  be  described  as  the  out- 
break of  the  Reformation  than  as  the  Reformation  it- 
self. Or,  if  he  should  read  the  whole  story  of  the  battles 
and  the  politics  of  our  civil  war,  how  little  he  would 
know  of  the  real  history  of  those  years  until  he  had 
been  shown,  as  a  skilful  teacher  could  briefly  show  him, 
how  all  that  was  compressed  into  that  crucial  time  was 
only  the  outburst  of  forces  that  had  been  gathering  for 
a  generation  before.  The  college  student  is  in  the 
fortunate  position  of  having  the  services  of  men  of  ex- 
perience ready  to  his  hand,  and  he  should  try  to  get  all 
out  of  them  that  he  can. 


ACADEMIC  STUDY  OF  HISTORY      249 

But  when  the  student  comes  to  ask  himself  just  what 
he  means  by  getting  something  from  a  teacher,  he 
should  look  out  that  he  gives  himself  a  sound  answer. 
He  should  be  careful  that  he  does  not  ask  of  a  teacher 
to  do  for  him  just  the  same  thing  that  reading  might 
do,  that  is  simply  to  pour  information  into  him  and 
leave  him  to  digest  it  or  not,  as  he  may  or  can.  He 
should  make  higher  demands  than  this.  He  should 
look  for  the  kind  of  teaching  that  lifts  him  up  and 
makes  him  more  capable  of  getting  at  things  for  him- 
self. He  must  call  for  a  kind  of  instruction  different 
from  that  which  the  books  may  give.  Of  course  this 
involves  the  question  of  men,  and  as  such  we  are  not 
here  concerned  with  it;  but  it  is  also  a  question  of  sub- 
jects, and  there  I  may  point  out  one  or  two  matters 
that  might  influence  your  choice.  There  are  portions 
of  History  which  can  be  dealt  with  by  yourselves  more 
successfully  than  others,  and  these  you  may  well  post- 
pone or  pursue  less  intensively  while  you  are  in  col- 
lege. In  the  others  you  will  almost  certainly  fail  to 
get  at  the  true  interest  and  value  of  study  unless  you 
can  work  in  them  under  wise  direction.  For  instance, 
you  need  help  most  when  you  are  dealing  with  men 
and  periods  most  remote  from  our  own.  I  mean  most 
remote  in  the  nature  of  the  institutions  and  modes  of 
thought  under  which  men  lived,  not  necessarily  most 
remote  in  time.  But  you  may  ask:  why  trouble  our- 
selves about  men  and  times  so  different  from  our  own 
that  we  can  draw  no  lessons  from  them?  If  the  pur- 
pose of  historical  study  be  to  make  us  know  our  own 
times  better,  why  not  keep  as  near  to  them  as  possible? 


250  LEARNING  AND  LIVING 

There  is  a  certain  attractiveness  in  that  inquiry,  and 
in  fact  the  record  of  the  elections  in  History  in  this  col- 
lege for  any  year  shows  that  a  great  majority  of  our 
students  have  answered  it  in  the  way  that  might  have 
been  expected.  They  have  decided  that  the  most  im- 
portant periods  for  them  to  study  are  not  the  remotest 
but  the  nearest,  both  in  time  and  character.  Is  that  a 
wise  decision?  Perhaps  we  may  profit  here  by  the 
analogy  of  the  physical  sciences.  If,  for  instance,  you 
are  studying  the  anatomy  of  the  horse,  whose  foot  has, 
I  believe,  gone  through  a  long  and  perfectly  traceable 
development  from  a  five-toed  to  a  one- toed  condition, 
would  you  be  contented  to  stop  at  the  point  where  you 
find  him  with  two  or  three  toes  and  try  to  see  how  the 
one  toe  grew  out  of  these?  No,  you  would  want  to  go 
back  just  as  far  as  possible,  and  the  farther  back  you 
went  the  more  interesting  and  important  your  study 
would  become.  The  scientist  is  in  pursuit  of  the  secret 
of  the  physical  life.  He  traces  the  embryo  back  in  his 
eager  search  until  he  reaches  the  point  which  seems 
only  one  step  removed  from  the  mystery  that  enwraps 
the  transmission  of  life  from  one  organism  to  another. 
We  admire  his  infinite  patience  and  his  conviction  that, 
though  he  fail  in  the  ultimate  quest,  he  will  at  least 
make  substantial  gains  for  the  cause  of  truth. 

We,  as  historical  students,  are  dealing  with  life  in 
another  aspect;  not  with  the  life  of  the  body,  but  with 
the  life  of  the  mind.  Our  quest  is  not  for  the  origins  of 
physical  functions,  nor  for  the  relations  of  one  form  of 
material  life  to  others,  but  for  the  origins  and  the  rela- 
tions of  the  great  institutions  which  have  shaped  the 


ACADEMIC  STUDY  OF  HISTORY      251 

lives  of  countless  generations  of  men  upon  this  earth. 
We  are  pursuing  the  shifting  and  fleeting  forms  which 
these  institutions  have  assumed  from  age  to  age,  and 
though  we  too  must  often  stand  baffled  before  the  great 
mysteries  of  human  experience,  still  we  feel  that  our 
quest  is  a  noble  one  and  that,  if  the  ultimate  secret 
eludes  us,  we  are  making  all  along  the  way  valuable 
contributions  to  the  sum  of  human  wisdom.  If  we  al- 
low ourselves  to  pause  in  our  inquiries  at  a  stage  only  a 
step  or  two  removed  from  present  conditions,  we  are 
like  the  naturalist  who  should  never  get  beyond  the 
outside  of  the  egg  shell,  who  should  content  himself 
with  the  mere  enumeration  of  present  forms  of  ma- 
terial life  upon  the  earth. 

The  naturalist  is  in  fact  of  value  to  the  world  mainly 
in  that  he  is  an  historian,  that  he  borrows  the  tools  of 
our  craft  and  works  with  them  toward  ends  like  our 
own.  If  the  historical  student  does  not  learn  some- 
thing of  ancient  and  mediaeval  life,  he  has,  properly 
speaking,  not  got  into  the  subject  of  History  at  all.  He 
is  only  dealing  with  present  conditions  or  with  those  so 
near  to  the  present  that  their  educational  value  is 
hardly  greater.  We  have  all,  of  course,  to  recognize  the 
fact  of  specialization  in  all  scientific  work;  we  know 
what  great  results  have  come  from  this  and  the  still 
greater  results  that  are  to  be  expected  from  it.  But  we 
have  to  consider  that  by  far  the  larger  part  of  our  col- 
lege study  is  elementary  and  introductory  to  later 
special  work  and  that  too  early  specialization  is  sure  to 
produce  a  top-heavy  and  one-sided  development.  This 
is  especially  true  of  History,  a  subject  upon  which  the 


252  LEARNING  AND  LIVING 

student  brings  very  little  knowledge  with  him  when  he 
comes  to  college.  The  problem  here  is  to  lay  broad  and 
deep  the  foundations  of  future  knowledge,  not  to  de- 
velop expertness  in  any  one  line  of  study. 

It  may  well  be  said  in  reply  to  this,  that  the  great 
majority  of  our  students  will  not  pursue  the  study  of 
History  beyond  their  college  years,  and  therefore,  that 
they  ought  rather  to  master  some  definite  period  than 
to  spread  themselves  over  too  wide  a  field.  If  by  study 
is  meant  the  systematic  dealing  with  books  in  aca- 
demic fashion,  the  proposition  is  sound,  but  if  we  are 
asked  to  believe  that  our  graduate  is  never  again  to 
busy  himself  with  historical  inquiry  it  may  well  be 
questioned.  He  can  hardly  fill  any  important  place  in 
active  life  in  which  he  will  not  be  called  upon,  not  only 
to  know  something  of  the  past,  but  to  add  to  his 
knowledge.  If  his  acquaintance  extends  only  to  the 
two  or  three  generations  of  men  just  preceding  his  own 
he  will  be  but  ill-prepared  to  meet  such  demands.  The 
problems  of  modern  European  politics,  for  instance, 
cannot  be  remotely  comprehended  by  one  who  has  not 
learned  to  understand  something  of  the  spirit  of  feudal 
Europe.  I  do  not  mean  by  this  that  one  should  merely 
have  learned  the  events  of  the  history  of  mediaeval 
France,  Germany,  and  Italy,  but  that  one  should  have 
reached  the  kind  of  comprehension  of  what  mediaeval 
life  meant  which  an  experienced  teacher  could  help 
him  to  attain. 

In  these  days  of  eager  discussion  as  to  the  possibili- 
ties of  international  cooperation  in  the  lessening  of 
national  enmities  and  the  bringing  about  of  something 


ACADEMIC  STUDY  OF  HISTORY      253 

like  the  poet's  "Parliament  of  Man"  there  is  especial 
need  of  an  historical  perspective  based  upon  the  most 
complete  command  of  all  that  History  has  to  teach. 
What  shall  we  think  of  the  guileless  indifference  to 
facts  of  men  who  tell  us  that  because  the  states  of  this 
Union  do  not  maintain  armies  and  lines  of  fortresses 
and  diplomatic  mechanisms,  therefore  the  nations  of 
Europe  can  equally  well  afford  to  do  without  these 
burdens?  As  if  these  new  communities,  carved  out  of 
the  wilderness  were  in  any  sense  comparable  to  those 
ancient  political  units  knit  together  by  ties  of  blood  and 
by  institutions  welded  through  centuries  of  common 
experience, strengthened  by  struggle, glorified  by  heroic 
example,  celebrated  in  poetry  and  song.  Such  a  per- 
version of  ideas  is  possible  only  to  men  who  have  never 
read  History  beneath  the  surface,  or  who  have  for- 
gotten in  partisan  zeal  the  lessons  they  had  once 
learned. 

If  now  we  are  convinced  that  there  are  definite  and 
practical  reasons  why  the  study  of  the  remote  past 
should  interest  live  young  men  of  the  present,  we  have 
still  to  inquire  as  to  the  best  division  of  time  in  college 
according  to  historic  periods.  Upon  which*  parts  of  the 
human  story  should  you  here  in  college  spend  the 
greater  part  of  your  time  and  energy?  That  is  a  ques- 
tion that  cannot  be  given  the  same  answer  for  all  men. 
There  will  be  individual  tastes  and  preferences,  and 
these  may  wisely  be  considered.  The  real  question  is: 
upon  what  parts  of  this  study  do  you  need  most  the 
interpretation  of  the  teachers  and  the  use  of  the  great 
literary  machinery  that  is  provided  for  you  here? 


254  LEARNING  AND  LIVING 

Your  choice  of  periods  ought,  I  think,  largely  to  de- 
pend upon  that.  Consider  whether  in  your  own  read- 
ing, both  now  and  hereafter,  you  will  be  most  likely  to 
understand  without  instruction  the  men  and  the  ideas 
of  the  eighteenth  and  nineteenth,  not  to  say  the 
twentieth  century  or  the  men  of  the  fourth  or  the 
tenth  or  the  fifteenth.  Consider  also  whether,  after 
you  leave  college,  in  the  ordinary  active  life  of  the 
world,  in  the  necessary  contact  with  modern  political 
problems  you  are  not  far  more  likely  to  be  drawn  into 
the  study  of  the  recent  than  of  the  remoter  past,  and 
whether  there  is  not  in  that  fact  an  indication  of  your 
duty  here.  Here  you  have  the  means  to  acquire  the 
foundation  upon  which  all  such  later  reading  can 
profitably  be  based,  and  without  which  that  later  ac- 
quirement will  never  be  so  thoroughly  understood. 

So  far  we  have  been  concerned  with  the  principle  of 
acquisition,  the  first  in  the  natural  order  of  progression 
suggested  by  the  normal  development  of  the  mind. 
The  second  principle  is  that  of  understanding.  We 
have  already  touched  upon  this,  for  at  no  stage  of 
progress  can  the  attempt  to  understand  be  wholly  dis- 
regarded. The  late  Professor  J.  G.  Droysen  in  his 
work  on  historical  method  defines  the  whole  object  of 
historical  study  to  be:  "to  understand  by  investiga- 
tion" (forschend  zu  versteheri),  that  is,  not  merely  to 
learn,  but  to  understand  what  one  learns.  Professor 
Henry  Adams  used  to  say  in  his  half  serious,  half 
whimsical  fashion :  "  If  there  is  anything  I  despise  more 
than  another,  it  is  information."  He  no  more  meant 
this  to  be  taken  literally  than  he  meant  people  to  be- 


ACADEMIC  STUDY  OF  HISTORY      255 

lieve  that  he  was  a  failure  as  a  teacher  of  History. 
What  he  did  mean  was  that  mere  information,  un- 
digested accumulation  of  material  would  surely  cause 
intellectual  ill  health.  It  is  obvious  that  to  understand 
facts  we  must  first  have  them;  the  caution  needed  is 
that  the  process  of  accumulation  should  not  be  fol- 
lowed too  exclusively  or  be  continued  too  long.  The 
fault  with  the  elder  pedagogy  was  that  it  relied  almost 
entirely  upon  acquisition  and  was  comparatively  in- 
different to  understanding.  I  well  remember,  when  I 
was  a  student  in  college  being  called  upon  to  finish  out 
a  paragraph  of  the  text-book  in  Greek  history  of  which 
the  so-called  instructor  had  given  me  the  first  line,  and 
being  set  down  hard  because  I  refused  to  make  the  at- 
tempt. Such  an  outrage  as  that  would,  I  am  happy  to 
believe,  be  impossible  to-day;  yet  the  temptation  to 
think  we  are  truly  learning  when  we  are  merely  cram- 
ming is  always  near,  and  we  have  to  brace  ourselves  to 
resist  it. 

To  understand  is  the  absolutely  first  essential  of  all 
study  that  can  be  called  in  any  sense  of  the  word  "ad- 
vanced." I  asked  an  honest  colleague  of  mine  whether 
he  considered  the  instruction  he  was  giving  in  one  of 
his  courses  advanced  instruction.  "I  do  most  cer- 
tainly" he  replied.  And  how  many  of  your  pupils  do 
you  think  get  advanced  instruction?"  "About  one- 
third."  Not  every  teacher  makes  so  nice  and  so  frank  a 
discrimination  between  those  pupils  who  merely  ac- 
quire a  modicum  of  information  and  those  who  really 
advance  to  the  grade  of  understanding.  I  can  never 
forget  the  stimulating  shock  of  listening  for  the  first 


256  LEARNING  AND  LIVING 

time,  as  I  did  in  Germany,  to  teachers  of  History  who 
actually  knew  what  they  were  talking  about,  who  had 
mastered  the  detail  of  information,  who  assumed  that 
their  pupils  had  also  made  notable  progress  in  detail 
and  who  tried,  upon  this  basis,  to  build  up  a  real  edifice 
of  understanding.  It  is  all  a  question  of  order  and 
proportion. 

My  own  academic  experience  is  long  enough  to  have 
shown  me  more  than  one  change  in  the  swing  of  the 
pedagogic  pendulum.  It  is  now  nearly  two  generations 
ago  that  I  was  taken  with  other  candidates  for  en- 
trance to  college  to  visit  the  famous  Boston  Latin 
School  and  see  for  ourselves  how  it  ought  to  be  done. 
At  the  request  of  our  teacher,  a  former  master  in  that 
ancient  school,  a  luckless  "first  boy"  was  haled  from 
his  seat  to  the  head  master's  desk  and  once  wound  up 
went  on  reciting  the  rules  and  exceptions  of  Andrews 
and  Stoddard's  Latin  grammar  until  he  was  red  in  the 
face,  while  we  poor  suburbanites  were  dumb  with 
amazement  and  despair.  That  was  the  ideal  held  be- 
fore us,  but  I  have  always  been  thankful  that  I  never 
even  remotely  attained  to  it.  I  am  bound  to  add  that 
the  prize  scholar  did  not,  as  might  have  been  expected, 
turn  out  an  incapable,  but  became  in  his  turn  a  head 
master  under  a  more  rational  system.  Extravagance 
produced  a  reaction,  and  the  generation  following 
swung  over  into  the  current  of  a  pedagogic  method  in 
which  the  accurate  learning  of  the  fundamentals  came 
to  be  treated  with  thinly  disguised  contempt.  Every- 
thing, we  were  told,  had  been  sacrificed  to  memory. 
Henceforth  only  such  things  were  to  be  memorized  as 


ACADEMIC  STUDY  OF  HISTORY      257 

were  absolutely  essential  to  the  rapid  attainment  of 
"efficiency." 

Under  this  impulse  of  reform  the  element  of  under- 
standing came  to  be  emphasized  to  a  grotesque  degree. 
Infants  in  school  were  to  have  everything  explained  to 
them.  No  one  was  to  be  required  to  learn  anything 
that  he  could  not  understand.  Mental  development 
was  to  take  the  place  of  mental  equipment.  Only  the 
happy  worker  could  do  good  work,  and  the  way  to 
make  people  happy  was  not  to  require  them  to  do  any- 
thing that  was  for  the  moment  disagreeable  to  them. 
It  was  a  halcyon  period,  full  of  noble  ideals  and  val- 
uable for  the  clearing  out  of  many  ancient  rubbish 
heaps.  But  when  the  time  came  for  taking  account 
of  stock,  it  appeared  that  all  this  interest  in  the  un- 
derstanding had  come  near  to  destroying  the  whole 
foundation  of  certain  knowledge  and  quick  ability  to 
handle  tools  upon  which  any  sound  comprehension 
must  rest.  So  again  we  are  coming  to  feel  in  these  new 
days  a  new  necessity  of  shifting  the  emphasis  once 
more.  Or,  to  follow  our  train  of  thought,  we  are  trying 
to  bring  about  a  more  just  proportion  and  a  more 
rational  order  between  the  elements  of  acquisition  and 
the  elements  of  understanding.  We  want  now  to  train 
the  memory,  to  teach  the  gospel  of  hard  work  whether 
we  understand  it  at  the  time  or  not,  and  then  to  gather 
up  what  we  have  learned  and  so  order  it  that  it  will 
have  a  meaning  and  a  lesson  for  us. 

So  we  come  to  our  third  methodic  principle,  that  of 
research  and  production.  Up  to  this  point  we  have 
been  thinking  of  the  student  in  his  relation  to  an  in- 


258  LEARNING  AND  LIVING 

structor  or  to  a  book.  We  now  have  to  think  of  him  in 
relation  to  definite  problems  of  inquiry.  In  the  earlier 
stages  of  acquisition  and  understanding  he  was  in  the 
attitude  of  receptivity.  Here  he  is  in  the  attitude  of 
personal  search  after  a  desired  fact  or  explanation  of 
facts.  In  those  former  capacities  the  impulse  to  work 
came  largely  from  without,  from  the  teacher  or  from  a 
sense  of  honorable  class  fellowship.  Now  the  impulse 
is  from  within,  a  personal  demand  for  the  satisfaction 
of  some  question  already  in  his  mind.  If  you  were  to 
ask  almost  any  thoughtful  teacher  in  this  college  what 
his  chief  difficulty  in  teaching  is,  he  would  not  answer 
that  students  were  reluctant  to  learn,  or  that  they 
were  stupid  or  did  not  appreciate  what  was  done  for 
them.  He  would  say  that  his  chief  obstacle  to  success 
was  the  docility  and  receptivity  of  his  students.  As 
one  of  my  colleagues  used  to  put  it:  "It's  not  their 
wrong  attitude  toward  their  studies;  it's  their  lack  of 
attitude."  Another  said  in  answer  to  the  question  how 
the  boys  from  a  certain  school  were  fitted  for  college: 
"They  are  pretty  well  fitted  to  unlearn  all  they  have 
learned."  And  that  was  saying  a  good  deal. 

The  method  of  personal  research  is  valuable  in  so  far 
as  it  tends  to  correct  the  results  of  too  much  acquisi- 
tion and  too  much  explanation.  Let  me  illustrate  by 
a  familiar  example.  What  would  you  think  of  a  youth 
who  should  set  before  himself  in  school  the  noble  am- 
bition to  be  the  best  ball  player  in  college,  and  should 
then  spend  his  time  in  reading  books  about  the  science 
of  pitching  and  catching  and  in  going  about  to  the  pro- 
fessors of  that  art  and  persuading  them  to  give  him 


ACADEMIC  STUDY  OF  HISTORY      259 

lectures  on  the  finer  details  of  their  honorable  pro- 
fession? You  all  know  better  than  that.  You  know 
that  the  way  to  learn  to  catch  a  ball  every  time  is  to 
catch  it.  At  first  you  will  fail  in  a  majority  of  cases; 
but  your  object  is  to  reduce  the  percentage  of  errors  to 
a  minimum,  and  you  know  better  than  any  one  can  tell 
you  that  the  place  to  do  that  is  the  ball-field.  Of  course 
there  are  many  practical  hints  which  the  expert  can 
give  to  the  novice,  but  you  know  that  all  such  theo- 
retical teaching  would  be  thrown  away  if  there  were 
not  going  on  with  it  the  training  of  the  eye  and  the 
hand  in  constant  practice.  Now  the  process  of  learn- 
ing to  do  one  thing  is  about  like  that  of  learning  to  do 
another.  You  learn  by  practice.  The  newspapers  are 
filled  with  alluring  advertisements  of  patent  ways  of 
learning  foreign  languages,  but  the  fundamental  fact 
remains  that  the  only  way  to  learn  a  language  is  to  use 
it;  and  the  same  is  true  of  every  other  subject. 

The  method  of  learning  by  research  calls  upon  the 
student  to  set  before  himself  definite  subjects  of  in- 
quiry and  to  pursue  them  until  he  reaches  an  answer. 
It  is  comparatively  new  here,  and  it  still  has  to  contend 
with  the  mental  apathy  induced  by  the  other  methods 
we  have  been  considering.  I  urge  it  upon  your  atten- 
tion in  regard  to  History  because  in  planning  your 
courses  of  study  you  are  likely  to  leave  little  space  for 
instruction  of  this  sort.  You  are  much  more  inclined  to 
follow  the  lines  of  least  resistance  and  to  go  on  acquir- 
ing information  and  trying  to  understand  it  without 
the  kind  of  effort  required  by  this  third  process.  The 
objection  most  often  found  in  presenting  its  claims  to 


260  LEARNING  AND  LIVING 

students  is  that  it  is  suited  only  for  those  who  intend 
to  be  professional  scholars  or  teachers.  I  do  not,  how- 
ever, think  this  objection  well  founded.  The  profes- 
sional student  of  History  is  sure  to  have  this  method 
forced  upon  his  attention  at  a  fairly  early  stage  of  his 
study.  The  moment  he  begins  to  inquire  into  what  is 
going  on  in  his  field  he  finds  that  his  fellow- workers  the 
world  over  are  engaged  in  one  or  another  kind  of  re- 
search, and  whether  he  will  or  no  he  must  join  in  the 
same  endeavor. 

The  general  student,  on  the  other  hand,  must  get  the 
benefit  of  such  method  in  college  if  he  is  to  get  it  any- 
where, and  he  needs  it  especially  to  aid  him  in  forming 
intelligent  judgments  upon  the  historical  statements, 
be  they  only  the  reports  in  the  daily  newspapers,  which 
he  is  to  meet  in  all  his  future  life.  It  is  to  this  method 
that  we  look  for  that  result  of  historical  study  I  have 
already  referred  to  as  the  power  of  weighing  and  sifting 
human  evidence.  There  is  no  process  so  admirably 
adapted  to  save  one  from  that  slavery  to  the  written 
word  which  is  the  bane  of  all  constructive  thought.  I 
have  seldom  known  a  student  in  my  own  practice 
work  who  did  not  come  to  me  at  the  end  of  the  year 
and  tell  me  that  he  thought  he  had  learned  for  life  the 
lesson  never  to  believe  anything  that  is  written  until  he 
had  convinced  himself  that  the  writer  had  got  his  in- 
formation from  trustworthy  sources,  that  he  was  a  man 
not  likely  to  pervert  the  truth,  that  he  was  not  likely 
to  be  led  by  blind  partisanship,  and  so  on  through  the 
catalogue  of  critical  tests.  In  other  words  he  had  grown 
out  of  the  attitude  of  receptivity  into  the  attitude  of 


ACADEMIC  STUDY  OF  HISTORY      261 

criticism,  and  criticism,  meaning  thereby  careful  ex- 
amination, is  the  absolutely  essential  process  in  the 
perception  of  truth. 

Allow  me  to  put  this  system  or  division  of  methodic 
principles  in  another  form.  I  hope  I  shall  not  be  ac- 
cused of  any  desire  to  invent  a  new  philosophic  scheme, 
still  less  of  dabbling  in  the  "Philosophy  of  History"  if 
I  suggest  that  there  is  here  a  useful  correspondence 
between  the  different  stages  of  a  man's  intellectual 
progress  and  the  different  methods  we  have  just  been 
considering.  There  are  three  stages  through  which  the 
normal  man  in  his  mental  growth  must  sooner  or  later 
pass.  These  are,  of  course,  the  stages  of  childhood, 
youth,  and  manhood.  They  cannot  be  marked  off  by 
any  given  age.  Some  persons  remain  all  their  lives  in 
the  stage  of  childhood;  others  move  on  through  the 
stage  of  youth  without  ever  reaching  manhood,  and 
others  still,  rarely  gifted  natures,  seem  never  to  have 
known  the  earlier  steps,  but  spring  full  armed  into  the 
work  of  life  as  grown-up  men.  But  the  average  man, 
such  as  most  of  us  are,  passes  pretty  clearly  through 
these  three  periods  during  his  intellectual  growth.  In 
his  early  life  he  has  most  clearly  marked  the  powers 
of  acquisition.  He  learns  with  amazing  rapidity.  His 
mind  is  simply  one  great  receiving  vault,  and  he  is  a 
happy  man  who  does  not  find  that  most  of  the  ideas 
which  are  there  stored  up  remain  dead  and  buried, 
unfruitful  for  the  future.  The  whole  visible  world  is 
for  the  child  but  so  much  material  from  which  he  may 
add  to  the  stock  of  his  information. 

In  the  second  stage  he  begins  to  arrange  this  mass  of 


262  LEARNING  AND  LIVING 

matter  into  orderly  shape.  He  wants  to  know  how 
this  and  that  fact  hang  together.  He  insists  upon  learn- 
ing the  reasons  of  things.  He  will  not  only  learn;  he 
will  also  understand.  In  the  third  stage  a  new  instinct 
arouses  within  him.  He  is  no  longer  satisfied  with  re- 
ceiving impressions  from  without  and  trying  to  under- 
stand them;  he  must  produce  something  of  his  own. 
What  we  like  to  call  the  creative  spirit  makes  itself 
felt.  The  man  of  business  must  no  longer  work  for 
wages;  he  must  begin  to  make  his  own  ventures  and  to 
hope  for  his  larger  profits.  The  man  of  other  people's 
books  must  begin  to  make  books  of  his  own.  The  stu- 
dent, as  he  reaches  this  stage,  begins  to  inquire  for 
himself  and  to  seek  the  solution  of  this  or  that  problem 
of  nature  and  life.  This  is  the  period  of  research. 

You  now  see  my  purpose  in  this  rather  common- 
place analogy.  The  methods  of  teaching  should  cor- 
respond as  nearly  as  may  be  to  the  stage  at  which  a 
man  finds  himself  in  his  intellectual  development.  But 
here  again  I  must  remind  you  that  the  lines  between 
these  methods  are  as  indistinct  as  are  those  between 
the  stages  of  growth.  One  man  remains  a  memorizer 
all  his  life,  and  no  one  cares  what  he  may  think  on 
the  reasons  of  things.  Another  reaches  the  stage  of 
great  intellectual  clearness  but  is  never  moved  to  go  on 
to  the  point  of  individual  research  and  productiveness. 
A  third  seems  by  some  singular  prenatal  process  to 
have  gone  through  the  earlier  stages  in  his  ancestors 
and  begins  at  once  to  originate.  Anthony  Trollope 
begins  his  creative  literary  life  at  the  age  of  forty; 
Tennyson  has  passed  his  climax  at  thirty.  It  is,  there- 


ACADEMIC  STUDY  OF  HISTORY      263 

fore,  clearly  impossible  to  check  men  off  into  one  or  the 
other  class  and  insist  upon  methods  of  study  rigidly 
adjusted  to  a  given  stage  of  advancement.  Some  of  the 
saddest  results  of  modern  experiment  have  come  from 
attempts  of  this  kind  to  force  students  into  methods, 
either  too  elementary  or  too  advanced,  which  were 
theoretically  suited  to  their  period  of  academic  study. 
My  suggestion  is  that  all  of  the  methods  here  de- 
scribed should  be  used  at  every  stage  of  progress,  only 
in  widely  differing  proportions.  In  the  earliest  mental 
condition,  that  of  the  child,  the  process  of  memory 
should  preponderate,  but  the  understanding  should  be 
quickened  also  within  such  limits  as  the  welfare  of 
the  individual  may  dictate,  and  he  should  be  further 
taught  to  reproduce  in  proper  form  something  of  that 
which  has  been  given  him.  Nothing  is  more  painful 
than  to  see  the  effort  sometimes  made  in  our  lower 
schools  to  force  the  understanding  at  an  age  when  the 
pupil  is  capable  of  little  else  than  memorizing.  Our 
reading  public  has  recently  been  deluged  ad  nauseam 
with  the  lucubrations  of  precocious  infants  exploited 
by  enterprising  publishers  to  the  grief  of  judicious 
friends  of  youth.  In  the  second  stage  the  understand- 
ing should  be  stimulated  by  every  rational  means, 
while  the  memory  should  still  be  cultivated  by  con- 
stant exercise.  Here  too  the  impulse  to  reproduction 
should  be  given  freer  scope.  The  pupil  should  be  en- 
couraged to  create  something,  be  it  ever  so  feeble,  out 
of  his  own  intellectual  stock.  And  so  in  the  third  stage 
he  should  still  continue  to  acquire,  but  in  lessening 
degree  and  always  for  definite  purpose.  The  devouring 


264  LEARNING  AND  LIVING 

curiosity  of  the  child,  for  which  the  whole  world  is  none 
too  large,  must  give  place  to  the  teaching  of  experience 
that,  after  all,  only  one  little  fragment  of  the  world's 
wisdom  can  be  conquered  by  any  one  man.  Gen- 
eralizing must  diminish,  and  specializing  must  begin. 
The  man  passes  out  of  the  period  of  authority  into  the 
period  of  independence.  His  method  of  work  is  now 
the  pursuit  of  definite  problems.  He  will  not  cease  to 
learn;  he  can  never  cease  to  desire  to  understand;  but 
the  bulk  of  his  effort  must  now  go  in  the  direction  of  pro- 
duction. He  may  make  books  or  he  may,  as  a  teacher, 
try  to  make  men,  or  as  a  journalist  try  to  move  the 
world,  or  as  a  politician  to  help  along  his  day  and  gen- 
eration. In  any  case  the  proportion  of  creative  effort 
to  acquisition  and  to  understanding  must  grow  con- 
stantly greater. 

You  see  how  all  this  applies  to  the  problem  im- 
mediately before  you:  how  to  plan  your  study  of  His- 
tory in  this  college  to  the  best  advantage.  As  to  age, 
you  are  all  in  the  period  of  youth.  You  ought  to  have 
left  your  childhood  behind  you.  Whether  you  have 
done  so  or  not,  each  of  you  must  answer  for  himself, 
and  upon  this  answer  will  depend  the  sort  of  study  you 
will  want  to  do  in  college  and  the  order  in  which  you 
will  pursue  it.  If  you  honestly  feel  that  you  are  in- 
capable of  anything  beyond  the  mere  work  of  acquir- 
ing facts,  then  you  should  so  choose  your  studies  that 
the  power  of  acquisition  will  be  called  into  play.  Con- 
fine yourself  in  that  case  to  courses,  if  any  such  there 
be,  in  which  no  demand  will  be  made  upon  you  beyond 
the  learning  of  certain  definite  things  without  much 


ACADEMIC  STUDY  OF  HISTORY      265 

inquiry  into  their  meaning  in  the  long  story  of  human 
life.  But,  if  you  are  in  search  of  some  wider  satisfac- 
tion, add  to  the  work  of  acquisition  by  taking  such 
courses,  and  such  I  know  there  are,  in  which  you  will 
be  led  to  see  the  bearing  of  events  upon  each  other  and 
upon  the  whole  course  of  history.  Choose  those  periods 
which  lie  far  removed  as  well  as  those  which  lie  nearer 
to  the  present.  Try  to  plan  a  longer  or  a  shorter  course 
of  study  in  such  a  way  that  it  will  show  you  the  con- 
nection between  the  remotest  and  the  nearest  phases  in 
human  development. 

As  to  order  of  selection,  I  can  only  make  a  few  gen- 
eral suggestions  based  upon  what  has  already  been 
said.  As  between  subjects,  I  should  say:  choose  first 
those  which  are  most  easily  comprehended.  It  would 
be  impossible  to  lay  down  any  principle  here  that 
would  hold  for  all  men,  but  it  is  safe  to  assume  that  the 
nearer  one  comes  to  the  life  of  to-day,  the  easier  one 
finds  it  to  understand  the  life  of  other  times.  But  this 
nearness  will  not  always  be  nearness  in  time.  The  life 
of  ancient  Greece  and  Rome  is  on  the  whole  much 
more  like  the  life  of  to-day  than  that  of  the  Middle 
Ages  is  to  either.  Mediaeval  life  is  marked  by  certain 
institutions  altogether  peculiar  to  itself  and  can  be 
understood  only  by  one  who  has  some  familiarity  with 
both  that  which  went  before  and  that  which  followed 
it.  Some  advisers  will  tell  you  that  the  only  proper 
order  of  historical  study  is  the  strictly  chronological 
one,  beginning  with  the  most  ancient;  others  will  tell 
you  the  reverse  of  this.  Neither  of  these  chronological 
orders,  it  seems  to  me,  has  any  real  principle  behind  it. 


266  LEARNING  AND  LIVING 

I  can  do  no  better  than  to  say  that  what  is  easier  to 
understand  ought  to  come  before  what  is  more  difficult 
and  leave  the  matter  there  with  the  suggestion  I  have 
just  made. 

So  much  for  the  order  of  choice  in  regard  to  subjects. 
But  I  think  the  question  of  method  should  enter  here 
also.  It  should  be  clear  from  what  has  already  been 
said  what  its  application  here  will  be.  In  the  earlier 
stages  of  your  work,  even  here  in  college,  let  the  process 
of  acquisition  preponderate.  That  is  the  purpose  of 
our  introductory  courses.  In  connection  with  those 
courses,  let  your  reading  not  be  limited  to  what  is  pre- 
scribed, but  let  it  be  as  broad  and  as  solid  as  possible, 
so  that  when  you  go  on  to  more  advanced  work  you 
may  be  sure  of  a  reasonably  sound  foundation.  Learn 
without  the  costly  method  of  experience  that  the  aver- 
age requirements  of  any  course  in  college  are  far  below 
what  would  be  profitable  for  the  earnest  student  who 
really  wants  to  make  each  course  a  stepping  stone  to 
something  higher.  Among  your  advanced  courses,  in- 
quire carefully  as  to  the  methods  pursued  and  let  your 
choice  be  governed  partly  by  that.  For  your  earlier 
advanced  work  let  the  effort  to  understand  preponder- 
ate, but  do  in  every  course  some  bit  of  original  work. 
Do  not  allow  yourself  to  enter  your  last  undergraduate 
year  without  having  produced  a  piece  of  written  work 
in  history.  Take  advantage  of  the  very  favorable 
arrangements  of  the  English  Department  to  select 
historical  topics  for  your  work  there  and  get  your  in- 
structor in  History  to  help  you  in  the  first  stages  of 
collecting  material  and  putting  it  into  orderly  shape. 


ACADEMIC  STUDY  OF  HISTORY      267 

You  will  thus  gain  a  bit  of  practice  that  will  be  of  serv- 
ice in  all  your  future  work. 

And  then,  as  you  come  to  the  later  years  of  study, 
let  the  element  of  research  take  a  larger  place.  A  word 
here  at  once  of  caution  and  encouragement.  I  have 
said  that  the  method  you  should  use  should  depend 
upon  the  stage  of  your  mental  progress,  but  let  me 
warn  you  also  that  your  progress  depends  a  good  deal 
upon  the  method  you  have  been  using.  If  you  have 
gone  on  too  long  in  the  attitude  of  receptivity,  you  will 
find  it  all  the  harder  to  change  to  the  method  of  ac- 
tivity. You  may  be  led  to  put  off  the  time  of  change  by 
a  feeling  that  you  are  not  quite  ready  for  it.  If  you 
wait  till  you  are  absolutely  certain,  you  will  never  be 
ready.  One  of  the  most  marked  characteristics,  I  sup- 
pose of  all  students,  certainly  of  Harvard  students  —  I 
say  it  with  all  deliberation  after  many  years'  acquaint- 
ance with  them  —  is  modesty  or  self-distrust.  It  is 
partly  this  that  keeps  them  from  venturing  early 
enough  into  the  creative  form  of  study.  They  fear 
they  may  produce  something  unripe  and  uncalled  for; 
and  so  they  will.  But  the  base-ball  candidate  is  not 
deterred  by  his  failures  from  keeping  at  it.  Even  if  he 
never  rise  above  the  humblest  position  in  the  game,  he 
knows  that  he  is  getting  something  valuable  by  the 
way,  and  there  is  always  the  chance  that  he  may  be- 
come the  great  man  of  his  year. 

I  urge  this  kind  of  practical  study  whether  you  mean 
to  be  a  specialist  in  History  or  not.  It  has  been  an  in- 
teresting experience  to  me  that  several  of  my  most  de- 
voted pupils  in  research  went  into  the  work  knowing  at 


268  LEARNING  AND  LIVING 

the  time  that  they  were  to  be  physicians.  They  be- 
lieved that  that  kind  of  training  was  going  to  help  in 
making  their  lives  larger  and  better,  and  I  trust  they 
have  not  been  disappointed. 

In  using  the  word  History  in  its  academic  sense  I 
have  meant  to  include  all  historical  instruction, 
whether  offered  in  the  program  of  the  historical  de- 
partment or  elsewhere,  and  I  cannot  too  strongly  rec- 
ommend every  student  of  History  to  make  as  wide 
excursions  into  the  fields  of  literature  and  art  as  his 
time  will  allow.  Much  instruction  in  those  depart- 
ments is  strictly  historical  in  its  character,  but  even 
that  which  is  more  purely  technical  is  rich  in  suggestion 
and  stimulation  for  the  historical  student. 


THE  RATIONAL  EDUCATION  OF  THE 
MODERN  MINISTER 

AN  ADDRESS  TO   MINISTERS 

DOES  the  modern  minister  need  any  education  at 
all?  In  view  of  the  almost  fanatical  emphasis  on 
education  in  our  day  and  country  such  a  question  may 
well  appear  absurd.  And  yet,  as  one  looks  over  the 
sources  of  supply  for  the  ministerial  profession,  one  is 
tempted  to  answer  it  in  the  negative.  The  fact  is  that  a 
large  proportion  of  Protestant  pulpits  are  filled  by 
young  men  whose  professional  preparation  has  been 
of  the  most  meager  description.  They  have  passed 
through  some  secondary  school  or  some  "college" 
which  ought  to  be  called  a  secondary  school  and  then 
have  spent  a  short  time  at  one  of  the  so-called  "  Bible 
Colleges  "  and  then  have  gone  at  once  into  the  practical 
duties  of  their  arduous  and  exacting  profession.  It  is 
comparatively  seldom  that  they  have  given  themselves 
the  benefit  of  an  apprenticeship  under  the  direction  of  a 
more  experienced  chief.  Without  the  preliminary 
training  of  the  young  lawyer  or  the  young  physician 
they  are  thrust  directly  into  responsibilities  as  serious 
as  any  they  will  ever  be  called  upon  to  assume.  Unlike 
these  other  professional  beginners  the  young  clergyman 
is  not  permitted  to  gain  experience  by  practice  in  un- 
important cases,  but  is  called  upon  at  once  to  meet  the 
severest  demands  upon  his  ministerial  character.  His 
success  or  failure  for  life  may  be  determined  by  the 

260 


270  LEARNING  AND  LIVING 

manner  in  which  he  responds  to  these  first  searching 
tests. 

The  contrast  with  other  professions,  however,  must 
not  be  drawn  too  sharply.  The  standards  of  excellence 
in  medicine  and  the  law  also  can  be  maintained  only  at 
the  cost  of  eternal  vigilance.  Our  greater  schools  of 
law  especially  are  subject  to  a  continual  rivalry  from 
institutions  having  no  other  object  than  to  push  on  as 
many  youths  as  possible  into  legal  practice  with  a 
minimum  of  knowledge  and  a  plentiful  lack  of  training 
in  legal  method.  Our  medical  schools  have  to  defend 
themselves  and  the  profession  from  the  incursion  of 
quackery  in  all  its  seductive  forms.  The  most  impor- 
tant difference  is  that  the  great  public  has,  or  thinks  it 
has,  its  own  quick  tests  of  value  in  law  and  medicine, 
whereas  in  those  things  of  the  spirit  which  are  the  con- 
cern of  the  young  minister  such  tests  are  almost  wholly 
lacking.  The  client  knows  whether  his  lawyer  wins  his 
case  and  the  patient  thinks  he  knows  whether  the 
doctor  cures  him,  but  the  man  in  the  pew  does  not, 
except  by  rather  long  experience,  find  out  whether 
his  clergyman  is  really  competent  for  the  service  he 
professes  to  render. 

There  is  another  line  of  contrasts  that  cannot  be 
overlooked.  In  medicine  and  in  the  law  there  is  a  con- 
siderable body  of  material  which  any  one  not  hope- 
lessly prejudiced  will  readily  admit  to  be  essential  to 
the  preparation  of  the  practitioner.  Anatomy  and 
physiology,  the  generally  accepted  maxims  of  the  com- 
mon law  and  the  statutes  of  the  state  —  this  minimum 
of  theoretical  knowledge  will  be  assumed  by  every  one, 


THE  MINISTER'S  EDUCATION        271 

and  few  will  question  the  value  of  having  these  and 
some  other  subjects  well  taught  through  systematic 
instruction.  For  the  minister,  it  is  said,  there  is  no 
such  body  of  necessary  knowledge.  The  one  essential 
thing  for  him  is  the  Bible,  and  a  familiarity  with  the 
text  of  the  Bible  is  best  acquired  in  the  family  and  will 
be  brought  with  the  young  man  into  his  practice.  All 
else,  such  is  the  argument  for  unpreparedness,  must 
come  with  the  practical  demands  of  the  parish.  The 
difficulty  of  replying  comes  from  the  undoubted  fact 
that  many  of  the  most  efficient  ministers  in  our  Prot- 
estant bodies  have  won  success  by  precisely  this  proc- 
ess. They  are  remembered;  the  greater  number  who 
fell  by  the  wayside  are  forgotten. 

Aside  from  familiarity  with  the  Bible  the  popular 
judgment  places  the  greatest  weight  upon  what  it  likes 
to  call  the  inspirational  quality  of  the  minister.  "An 
inspired  boy!"  was  the  comment  of  an  intelligent 
woman  upon  a  youth  just  entering  upon  his  ministerial 
career.  It  was  a  most  unfortunate  estimate  of  the 
young  man's  quality,  as  the  sequel  inevitably  proved. 
Inspiration  without  training  and  without  the  saving 
balance  of  sound  common  sense  may  carry  a  man  along 
over  the  first  obstacles,  until  the  tests  of  character  be- 
gin to  be  felt,  but  then  it  will  pretty  certainly  fail  him. 
If  the  profession  of  the  minister  is  to  go  on  there  must 
be  some  systematic  preparation  for  it,  and  that  prep- 
aration must,  for  the  present  at  least,  be  given  in 
organized  schools  specially  endowed  for  the  purpose. 

That  the  institution  of  the  Christian  ministry  is  to 
go  on  and  will  try  to  do  substantially  the  work  it  has 


272  LEARNING  AND  LIVING 

always  tried  to  do  is  here  assumed,  in  spite  of  all  prog- 
nostications to  the  contrary.  My  own  conviction  on 
this  point  may  be  illustrated  by  an  early  experience. 
A  generation  ago,  when  I  was  a  young  teacher  of  His- 
tory in  the  university  I  was  suddenly  offered  the  newly 
founded  professorship  of  Church  History  in  the  Har- 
vard Divinity  School.  I  was  a  layman,  with  only  a 
very  loose  connection  with  a  religious  organization  and 
I  had  made,  up  to  that  time,  no  detailed  study  of  either 
the  institutions  or  the  doctrines  of  the  historic  Church. 
In  my  preliminary  conversation  with  President  Eliot 
he  asked  me  among  other  things  what  was  my  feeling 
in  regard  to  the  permanence  of  the  ministerial  profes- 
sion. In  view  of  the  obvious  rivalries  of  the  press,  of 
charitable  organization,  of  scientific  study,  of  popular 
education,  did  I  feel  that  the  profession  of  the  minister 
was  worth  maintaining  in  dignity  and  honor  as  a  part 
of  the  function  of  a  great  university?  My  reply  was, 
that  I  did  not  believe  the  time  had  come  or  was  likely 
to  come  soon  when  the  spoken  word  would  lose  its 
power  over  the  minds  of  men.  If  the  Christian  ministry 
under  its  present  form  should  disappear  to-morrow, 
under  some  other  form  it  would  reappear  the  day  after 
to-morrow  and  would  go  on  doing  the  same  work  it  had 
always  done. 

That  conviction,  hastily  formulated  and  crudely  ex- 
pressed, has  not  changed  with  the  passing  of  a  genera- 
tion in  which  the  rivalries  I  have  mentioned  have 
certainly  not  diminished  in  number  nor  lessened  in 
their  manifold  and  welcome  activities.  Not  forgetting 
some  moments  of  depression  I  draw  from  the  expe- 


THE  MINISTER'S  EDUCATION        273 

rience  of  this  generation  spent  in  helping  to  prepare 
young  men  for  the  practice  of  this  profession  only  new 
encouragement  and  hopefulness.  The  world  is  still 
looking  for  leadership,  never,  I  believe,  more  eagerly 
than  now.  It  complains,  to  be  sure,  that  the  qualities 
it  seeks  are  not  often  found;  but  when  it  does  find  them 
it  knows  them,  it  welcomes  them  and  it  rewards  them. 
It  bears  patiently  with  mediocrity  hoping  always  for 
better  things.  At  the  close  of  a  generation  I  do  not 
hesitate  to  say  that  the  standing  of  your  profession  in 
the  community  at  large  is  as  good  as  it  was  at  the  be- 
ginning. In  some  respects  it  is  better  because  of  the 
wholesome  criticism  to  which  the  profession  has  been 
subjected. 

Now,  what  is  it  that  the  community  values  in  the 
office  of  the  minister?  What  kind  of  leadership  does  it 
ask  him  to  supply,  and  what  does  it  miss  when  it  finds 
fault  with  his  service?  Through  this  generation  there 
has  been  a  persistent  cry  that  the  old  idea  of  the  min- 
ister as  a  teacher  of  religion  and  as  a  persuader  to  right 
living  was  gone  forever.  Henceforth  he  was  to  be  an 
economic  counsellor,  a  sanitary  director,  a  charity  or- 
ganizer, a  pilot  through  the  bewilderments  of  "social 
service,"  an  apostle  of  "social  justice,"  a  mouthpiece 
for  all  the  divine  discontents  that  seem  to  foretell  the 
overturn  of  our  social  order  —  anything,  in  short,  but 
the  interpreter  to  a  puzzled  world  of  the  divine  idea  as 
presented  in  the  Good  News  of  Jesus  Christ.  No  won- 
der that  many  an  earnest  youth  of  rich  endowment, 
facing  the  prospect  of  such  a  multifarious  requirement 
as  this  should  have  drawn  back  in  alarm  and  left  the 


274  LEARNING  AND  LIVING 

field  of  the  ministry  to  duller  minds  and  less  awakened 
consciences,  while  he  has  applied  his  better  powers  to 
some  profession  where  the  demand  seemed  to  be 
simpler  and  more  tangible. 

Such  losses  to  the  profession  are  deplorable,  and  the 
more  so,  to  my  mind,  because  I  think  they  result  from 
a  wrong  conception  of  the  real  demand.  Of  course,  all 
these  functions  can  be  better  performed  by  men  spe- 
cially trained  in  the  several  fields  of  knowledge  and 
experience  here  suggested.  If  the  community  needs 
instruction  in  economic  science,  it  is  not  going  to  its 
minister  to  get  it.  If  its  conscience  begins  to  prick  it 
with  a  sense  of  duty  to  its  badly  housed  and  badly  fed 
and  imperfectly  washed  members,  there  are  experts  at 
hand  to  suggest  practical  remedies.  It  is  not  skill  in 
these  things  that  makes  the  minister  a  useful  man  in 
his  community.  He  must  have  his  ideas  about  such 
problems,  but  so  must  every  other  good  and  thought- 
ful citizen.  An  expert  indeed  he  must  be;  but  it  must 
be  in  something  different  from  any  or  all  of  these  sub- 
jects. His  expertness  must  lie  in  the  application  to  all 
these  details  of  those  principles  in  belief  and  those 
sanctions  for  action  to  which  we  give  the  name  of  re- 
ligion. His  service  to  mankind  will  be  in  showing  what 
these  principles  are  and  how  they  may  be  made  to  work 
in  the  daily  experience  of  every  man.  His  leadership, 
if  he  is  really  to  lead,  must  consist  in  the  constant 
stimulation  of  his  hearers  to  live  and  work  as  religious 
men,  as  servants  of  something  greater  than  themselves. 

The  history  of  the  ministerial  office  in  the  Christian 
church  shows  it  under  three  forms  best  described  by 


THE  MINISTER'S  EDUCATION        275 

the  words  priest,  prophet,  and  ruler.  The  priest  is 
above  all  else  the  personal  representative  of  an  in- 
stitution. What  he  says  and  does  has  force  and  value 
only  as  it  conveys  to  the  individual  the  treasure  of 
faith  and  practice  entrusted  to  the  institution  of  the 
Church.  The  prophet  is  he  who  utters  forth  the  truths 
of  Christianity  without  reference  to  their  institutional 
sanctions.  His  quality  as  a  Christian  man  suffices  to 
give  validity  to  his  teaching,  and  this  teaching  must 
find  its  way  to  the  hearts  of  his  disciples  in  virtue  of  its 
inherent  truth,  not  because  it  accords  with  any  pre- 
scriptions of  authority.  The  ruler  is  the  minister  in  his 
quality  of  temporal  administrator,  either  recognized 
and  supported  by  political  authority  or,  if  independent 
of  that,  maintained  and  sanctioned  by  the  religious 
body  he  represents. 

Historically  these  several  characters  have  been 
united  in  the  one  person  of  the  priest,  but  at  different 
times  and  under  differing  circumstances  the  emphasis 
has  been  very  differently  placed.  At  the  high  points  of 
clerical  domination  of  society  the  prophetic  character 
has  been  almost  entirely  subordinated  to  the  other 
two.  Priestly  ordination  and  political  control  have 
combined  to  repress  every  too  ardent  expression  of  the 
individual  spirit.  Then  have  come  great  moments  of 
revival,  when  men  have  turned  against  these  agencies 
of  repression  and  have  welcomed  the  individual  whose 
prophetic  quality  gave  them  promise  of  betterment. 
Then  ordinations  and  political  institutions  have  had  to 
adjust  themselves  to  the  newly  awakened  religious 
consciousness,  and  new  historic  epochs  have  begun. 


276  LEARNING  AND  LIVING 

Of  all  such  periods  of  revival  the  Protestant  Reforma- 
tion was  the  most  important,  and  we  are  the  sharers 
in  its  heritage.  The  line  of  cleavage  between  "  those 
who  go  to  the  Mass  "  and  "  those  who  go  to  the  preach- 
ing" originating  in  the  religious  divisions  of  the  six- 
teenth century,  has  lost  none  of  its  significance  to-day. 
In  our  Protestant  ministry  the  decisive  element  is  still 
the  individual  appeal,  freed  as  far  as  may  be  from  the 
dictation  of  any  organization  or  the  domination  of  any 
external  authority. 

The  Protestant  minister  belongs  in  the  line  of 
"prophets,"  but  as  it  was  with  the  prophets  who  were 
before  him,  his  prophetic  quality  has  no  formal  certifi- 
cation. Like  the  "prophet"  of  the  "Teaching"  he  must 
prove  the  genuineness  of  his  gift  before  he  can  expect 
men  to  accept  his  leadership.  Ecclesiasticism  allied 
with  Establishmentism  may  and  will  do  its  best  to 
harness  the  prophetic  force  with  its  own  bit  and  bridle, 
but  it  is  only  the  feeble  and  the  timid  among  the  proph- 
ets who  will  submit  to  this  kind  of  schoolmastering. 
The  true  prophet  will  lead;  he  will  not  ask  to  be  led  by 
any  light,  however  kindly,  that  dims  the  radiance  of 
his  own  honest  conviction. 

How  eager  this  search  for  spiritual  leadership  is  in 
the  modern  world  was  abundantly  shown  a  few  years 
ago  when  a  new  prophet  of  quite  the  ancient  type  ap- 
peared with  a  ready-made  revelation,  an  elaborate 
Scripture  and  a  commercial  establishment  singularly 
suited  to  capture  the  imagination  of  a  business  world. 
A  few  commonplaces  as  fcp  conduct,  a  philosophy  of 
life  absurdly  distorted  by  a  cheap  travesty  of  science, 


THE  MINISTER'S  EDUCATION        277 

and  a  working  organization  happily  freed  from  the 
accumulated  rubbish  of  clericalism  swept  thousands  of 
plain,  well-meaning  people  into  a  delusive  ecstasy  of 
deliverance  from  all  the  weaknesses  of  their  human  ex- 
perience. How  the  balance  of  good  and  evil  in  this 
singular  phenomenon  is  to  be  adjusted  is  not  yet  per- 
ceived. It  serves  us  here  only  to  show  how  ready  men 
of  good  will  are  to  grasp  at  shadows  when  the  sub- 
stance is  no  longer  brought  home  to  them  with  con- 
vincing force. 

If  the  modern  minister  is  to  do  his  part  in  holding 
men  true  to  the  best  traditions  of  the  religion  he  pro- 
fesses to  serve  he  must  prepare  himself  by  all  the  train- 
ing he  can  command  to  meet  the  complex  requirements 
of  his  unique  position.  A  prophet  in  the  sense  of  an 
individual  with  a  message,  he  is  to  be,  but  he  cannot 
afford  to  forget  that  for  this  kind  of  prophecy  there  is  a 
technique  that  must  be  learned.  Sometimes  it  seems  as 
if  men  thought  the  training  of  the  minister  could  be  all 
technique.  "Why,"  said  the  head  of  a  certain  the- 
ological school,  speaking  of  the  class  about  to  graduate, 
"  they  don't  even  know  how  to  say  '  Here  endeth  the 
First  Lesson.' '  No  doubt  there  is  a  right  way  and  a 
wrong  way  to  do  everything,  but  that  seemed  rather  a 
false  emphasis.  On  the  other  hand  there  is  likely  to  be 
a  feeling,  especially  among  "liberally"  inclined  stu- 
dents that  every  technical  requirement  is  some  kind  of 
encroachment  upon  that  freedom  of  the  spirit  which 
they  claim  as  their  special  right.  I  have  known  the- 
ological students  who  refused  to  write  sermons  as  a 
part  of  their  school  training  on  the  ground  that  this  was 


278  LEARNING  AND  LIVING 

a  fictitious  and  necessarily  insincere  performance. 
Others  have  refused  to  take  part  in  public  prayer,  be- 
cause they  felt  it  to  be,  as  it  were,  a  kind  of  dress 
rehearsal  and  therefore  irreverent  and  unbecoming. 
Such  objections,  flippant  as  they  seem,  were  based 
upon  a  truly  honorable  conception  of  the  sacredness  of 
the  preacher's  office.  They  deserved  respectful  con- 
sideration, but  it  ought  not  to  be  difficult  to  convince 
an  intelligent  student  that  unless  he  is  willing  to  submit 
himself  to  systematic  training  he  will  surely  become 
his  own  worst  hindrance  in  the  work  he  wants  to  do. 
The  minister,  we  have  said,  is  not  called  upon  to  be  a 
specialist  in  any  branch  of  science,  and  yet,  if  he  is  to 
succeed  in  his  purpose  he  must  so  far  meet  the  temper 
of  the  modern  world  as  to  specialize  in  something,  and 
at  the  risk  of  seeming  vague  or  unpractical  we  have  to 
describe  his  field  of  specialization  as  the  kingdom  of 
the  spirit.  It  is  a  vague  word,  but  only  in  the  sense  in 
which  the  highest  things  always  elude  precise  defini- 
tion. When  we  are  told  that  the  letter  killeth,  but  the 
spirit  maketh  alive,  we  know  what  is  meant.  The 
Christian  doctrine  of  a  Holy  Spirit,  the  least  definable 
of  all  doctrines,  is  also  the  most  easily  understood.  So 
that  when  we  say  that  the  minister  has  to  prepare  him- 
self to  be  a  leader  in  the  things  of  the  spirit  we  have, 
after  all,  set  before  him  a  fairly  definite  field  of  effort, 
It  is  true  that  if  the  young  man  should  come  to  his 
teachers  and  say:  "  Go  to,  now;  tell  me  all  about  the 
life  of  the  spirit  and  how  I  shall  make  it  clear  to  other 
people,"  he  would  meet  and  he  would  deserve  to  meet 
with  a  smiling  refusal.  The  wise  teacher  would  remind 


THE  MINISTER'S  EDUCATION        279 

him  that  the  kingdom  of  God  cometh  not  with  obser- 
vation. "  Direct  action,"  the  favorite  weapon  of  social 
reform  in  our  day,  will  not  work  here.  The  spirit  can- 
not be  isolated  and  experimented  with  like  a  chemical 
element  or  the  bacillus  of  some  special  disease.  It  can 
be  known  only  as  it  expresses  itself  through  human 
action  and  human  thought.  The  whole  activity  of  a 
man  or  a  society  must  be  permeated  with  a  spiritual 
content  if  he  or  it  is  to  take  a  share  in  bringing  about 
the  supreme  consummation  of  a  world  set  free  from 
servitude  to  material  things. 

While,  therefore,  it  would  seem  folly  to  suggest  a 
department  of  spiritual  leadership  in  the  curriculum  of 
a  theological  school,  it  cannot  be  too  strongly  em- 
phasized that  all  departments  should  be  penetrated  by 
this  one  ultimate  purpose.  Scholarship,  eloquence, 
humanitarianism,  administrative  skill  —  all  these  must 
somehow  be  conceived  as  vehicles  through  which  to 
convey  the  one  animating  and  consecrating  spirit. 
There  can  be  no  separation  between  positive  acquire- 
ment and  that  steady  refining  and  clarifying  of  the 
mind  which  is  the  mark  of  the  truly  educated  man. 
That  this  refining  process  goes  on  unconsciously  does 
not  lessen  its  reality.  It  may  be  only  at  critical  mo- 
ments that  it  becomes  perceptible  to  the  pupil  or  to  his 
teachers,  but  these  are  precisely  the  test  moments  that 
prove  the  reality  of  its  progress.  The  education  of  the 
modern  minister,  just  as  truly  as  that  of  the  ancient 
one,  must  begin,  continue  and  —  I  was  about  to  say, 
end,  but  caught  myself  in  time  and  will  say,  go  on  as 
long  as  he  lives  preserving  this  constant  balance  be- 


280  LEARNING  AND  LIVING 

tween  the  things  that  can  be  learned  outright  and  the 
things  that  can  only  be  felt  as  the  inspiration  and 
justification  of  all  the  rest. 

We  come  to  the  more  concrete  part  of  our  subject, 
the  definite  preparation  of  the  Protestant  minister. 
And  here,  to  begin  somewhat  before  the  beginning,  and 
at  the  risk  of  bringing  down  upon  myself  the  reproach 
of  undemocracy,  the  most  damning  rebuke  of  the 
hour,  I  venture  to  express  at  least  the  wish  that  the 
minister's  education  might  begin  a  few  generations 
before  he  is  born.  In  other,  but  perhaps  not  less  blame- 
worthy language,  it  is  a  pity  that  our  "  best  families," 
define  that  as  one  may,  should  not  contribute  at  least 
their  share  of  candidates  for  this  profession.  In  saying 
this  I  am  not  subscribing  to  the  rather  fatuous  defense 
of  the  English  clerical  system,  that  "  it  is  a  good  thing 
to  have  a  gentleman  in  every  parish,"  but  I  will  go  so 
far  as  to  say  that  gentle  birth,  in  the  best  meaning  of 
that  almost  forgotten  word,  gives  to  a  man  a  kind 
of  start  in  life  that  nothing  else  can  supply.  The 
defiant  democracy  which  begins  with  the  assumption 
that  one  man  is  as  good  as  another,  if  not  better,  is 
a  poor  foundation  for  effective  leadership  in  the  high- 
est things.  The  word  "  background"  has  been  played 
with  a  good  deal  of  late,  but  it  serves  a  purpose.  As 
we  at  the  university  watch  the  constant  stream  of 
young  life  flowing  into  the  current  of  our  academic 
activities,  we  see  now  and  then  a  youth,  clean,  intelli- 
gent, modest,  self-contained,  efficient,  on  whom  our 
first  comment  is:  "That  boy  has  background."  We 
know  nothing  of  his  antecedents,  but  we  feel  instinc- 


THE  MINISTER'S  EDUCATION        281 

lively  a  kind  of  quality  that,  bred  in  the  bone,  will 
come  out  in  the  flesh,  and  we  count  upon  him  to  fulfil 
this  promise  of  his  birth. 

Of  such  a  youth  we  say:  "Here  is  good  stuff  to  work 
upon.  He  can  give  and  take.  If  we  hit  him  there  is  a 
good  sound  ring  to  him.  Cut  him  and  he  bleeds."  You 
cannot  polish  punk;  even  the  varnish  with  which  you 
try  to  coat  it  with  a  fictitious  brilliance  will  not  stand 
the  wear.  The  Christian  ministry  needs  men  of  that 
finer  type  whether  they  come  out  of  palaces  or  tene- 
ments, from  the  city  or  the  prairie.  Then,  upon  such  a 
foundation  of  quality  there  should  be  built  up  a  struc- 
ture of  sound  elementary  training,  as  free  as  possible 
from  the  quackeries  of  modern  educational  theorists. 
Nothing  that  can  be  done  later  can  ever  quite  make  up 
for  the  lack  of  such  an  early  training.  To  it  the  man 
owes  the  best  he  ever  gets  of  those  instinctive  mental 
habits  that  are  the  basis  of  success:  quick  perception, 
ready  appropriation,  prompt  turning  from  one  mental 
occupation  to  another,  especially  the  all-important 
capacity  for  voluntary  concentration.  These  habits, 
the  most  valuable  part  of  all  education,  go  back  to  per- 
sistent practice  in  earliest  youth. 

Then,  secondly,  before  the  professional  study,  should 
come  a  thorough  course  in  the  liberal  arts.  Perhaps 
this  may  seem  a  quite  superfluous  remark,  but  prob- 
ably few  are  aware  how  often  in  the  recent  past  this 
seemingly  natural  order  of  progression  has  been  re- 
versed. Theological  seminaries  have  opened  their 
doors  to  youths  of  slender  means  more  or  less  seriously 
inclined  to  the  ministry  and  finding  there  a  kind  of 


282  LEARNING  AND  LIVING 

substitute  for  the  education  they  could  not  otherwise 
obtain.  Afterward,  if  they  persisted  in  their  expressed 
intention  and  could  afford  the  time  they  would  go  to 
a  college  and  try  to  make  up  for  the  lack  of  previous 
liberal  training.  In  one  of  the  New  England  states 
there  was  and  for  aught  I  know  there  still  is,  an  ar- 
rangement between  a  college  of  good  standing  and  a 
theological  school  by  which  the  college  undertook  to 
receive  such  half  prepared  candidates  and  do  what  it 
could  for  them.  Out  of  so  curiously  inverted,  not  to 
say  perverted,  an  educational  scheme  exceptionally 
gifted  youths  prevented  by  some  untoward  circum- 
stance from  following  the  natural  order,  may  well  have 
drawn  the  essentials  of  a  preparation  for  effective  serv- 
ice in  the  ministry,  but  certainly  they  would  be  the 
last  persons  to  counsel  it  as  a  normal  method. 

Within  a  comparatively  recent  time  the  require- 
ment of  an  academic  degree  as  a  condition  of  entrance 
into  the  better  theological  schools  has  set  a  standard 
to  which  the  country  as  a  whole  is  more  or  less  re- 
luctantly assenting.  In  interpreting  this  standard, 
however,  there  is  still  the  widest  opportunity  for 
evasion.  What  kind  of  a  degree,  from  what  kind  of  a 
college,  acquired  by  what  kind  of  a  course  of  study  ?  - 
these  are  all  questions  answered  very  differently  by  in- 
stitutions nominally  standing  on  the  same  level.  And 
under  the  specious  heading  of  "special  students"  the 
temptation  to  whip  the  devil  around  this  particular 
stump  has  often  proved  irresistible.  I  recall  a  case  of  a 
graduate  of  a  theological  school,  himself  a  scholar  of 
extraordinary  ability,  recommending  to  his  alma  mater 


THE  MINISTER'S  EDUCATION        283 

a  raw  youth  with  no  qualifications  except  a  wild  desire 
to  reform  everything,  and  never  forgiving  her  the  of- 
fense of  refusing  to  suspend  all  rules  and  admit  him  to 
her  membership.  Perhaps  the  refusal  was  stimulated 
by  the  recollection  that  that  same  school  had  been 
nearly  wrecked  a  generation  earlier  by  listening  to 
similar  appeals  and  receiving  into  its  fellowship  a 
swarm  of  candidates  from  a  bankrupt  institution 
whose  only  requirement  for  admission  had  been  ex- 
pressed good  intentions  and  apparently  good  character. 
This  requirement  of  a  previous  liberal  education 
ought  to  be  made  absolute  and  be  strictly  interpreted. 
The  loss  to  the  profession  that  may  come  from  the  re- 
jection of  an  occasional  exceptional  candidate  will  be 
more  than  made  up  by  the  general  toning  up  of  the 
whole  professional  standard.  I  am  using  the  word 
"liberal  "here  in  its  proper  sense  of  non-professional,  or 
to  adopt  the  somewhat  extravagant  language  of  its 
defenders,  of  "anything  that  is  not  useful."  A  liberal 
education  ought  to  prepare  for  everything  as  truly  as 
it  seems  to  prepare  for  nothing  in  particular.  It  ought 
to  provide  a  basis  for  further  study  in  any  direction  or 
for  what  we  are  always  speaking  of  as  the  opposite  of 
all  further  study,  for  "life."  On  the  solid  foundations 
of  a  firm  elementary  training  it  ought  to  start  the 
young  man  on  the  beginnings  of  many  subjects  and 
carry  him  pretty  far  along  in  a  few.  The  problem  for 
every  expectant  professional  student  is  to  decide  what 
subjects  will  best  advance  his  later  professional  pur- 
pose. I  have  tried  elsewhere  l  to  suggest  certain  prin- 

1  Pages  145  sqq. 


284  LEARNING  AND  LIVING 

ciples  by  which  the  choice  of  subjects  in  college  may 
be  determined  and  have  expressed  my  opinion  that  in 
general  these  subjects  should  not  be  too  closely  re- 
lated to  the  future  profession. 

That  principle,  which  I  should  be  inclined  to  inter- 
pret rather  strictly  for  the  lawyer,  the  physician  or  the 
engineer,  may  be  much  more  liberally  construed  for 
the  theologian.  His  professional  studies  will  be  so  far 
from  strictly  technical,  that  they  may  much  more 
wisely  be  commenced  in  the  preparatory  stage.  In- 
deed the  most  truly  liberalizing  studies  are  precisely 
those  which  the  theological  candidate  may  most  prof- 
itably pursue  in  the  years  just  before  he  enters  upon 
his  professional  work.  It  would  be  a  fortunate  cir- 
cumstance if  the  youth  entering  college  could  be  quite 
assured  of  his  purpose  to  enter  the  ministry  of  re- 
ligion. It  would  give  definiteness  to  his  choice  of 
studies,  and  even  if  he  should  afterward  change  his 
intention,  the  choice  thus  made  would  be  as  likely  to 
prove  satisfactory  as  any  other. 

In  what  now  should  such  a  choice  of  college  studies 
for  the  future  minister  consist?  I  can  answer  this  ques- 
tion only  for  myself,  realizing  fully  that  it  will  be  very 
differently  answered  by  others  equally  competent. 
First  of  all  I  should  lay  weight  upon  the  languages, 
with  especial  reference  to  facility  in  reading  them,  with 
careful  attention  to  the  essentials  of  grammar,  but  not 
worrying  oneself  too  much  about  refinements  and  ex- 
ceptions. Latin,  with  its  fatally  unfamiliar  idiom, 
ought  to  be  conquered  to  the  point  of  easy  reading. 
Nothing  can  compare  with  such  facility  for  value  in 


THE  MINISTER'S  EDUCATION        285 

every  kind  of  study  which  the  minister  will  be  called 
upon  to  make.  Greek,  infinitely  more  interesting  and 
not  essentially  more  difficult  as  a  language,  is  going  to 
have  a  more  immediate  value  in  first-hand  study  of 
Scripture,  but  is  far  less  important  in  all  other  re- 
spects. If  one  could  study  only  one  of  these  two  lan- 
guages I  should  say,  for  linguistic  training,  for  supreme 
literary  enjoyment,  for  illumination  as  to  possibilities 
of  expression  in  words,  choose  Greek.  But  for  practical 
use  as  an  instrument  of  further  study  in  almost  every 
subject,  Latin  is  to  be  advised.  Fortunately  the  stu- 
dent is  not  reduced  to  this  alternative.  There  is  time 
enough  in  the  eight  years  of  his  liberal  preparation  for 
a  good  start  in  both,  and  further  progress  can  easily  be 
assured  by  a  very  slight  amount  of  regular  practice  in 
reading  matter  bearing  directly  upon  his  professional 
interest. 

As  to  modern  languages,  they  ought  to  be  learned,  so 
to  speak,  "in  his  stride."  It  is  idle  to  waste  much  time 
on  them  in  college,  where  the  method  of  instruction  is 
necessarily  of  a  kind  least  adapted  to  success.  They 
must  be  acquired  if  the  student  is  not  to  be  crippled 
throughout  his  active  life,  but  when  once  the  linguistic 
sense  has  been  quickened  by  study  of  the  classic 
models,  the  modern  idiom  and  the  modern  vocabulary 
seem  by  comparison  almost  absurdly  easy. 

As  to  mathematics  and  the  physical  sciences:  it 
would  be  rather  a  pity  if  the  future  clergyman  should 
not  add  something  in  college  to  the  beginnings  already 
made  in  the  secondary  school,  but  the  proportion  of 
these  studies  must  necessarily  be  small.  The  weight  of 


286  LEARNING  AND  LIVING 

his  attention  must  be  placed  upon  those  subjects  which 
I  venture  to  call,  "without  prejudice,"  the  humane  dis- 
ciplines. By  this  we  mean  those  studies  which  deal 
primarily  with  man  and  his  works.  History  in  all  its 
aspects  will  give  to  the  theological  candidate  the  back- 
ground for  his  study  of  the  Church  without  which  it 
must  always  lack  its  most  essential  support.  Eco- 
nomics, theoretical  and  practical,  will  introduce  him  to 
the  principles  of  production  and  exchange  which  under- 
lie all  social  problems.  Philosophy  on  its  historical  and 
its  speculative  sides  will  furnish  his  mind  with  the 
training  in  pure  reasoning  which  he  will  sorely  need 
when  he  comes  to  the  problems  of  theological  discus- 
sion. 

Then,  first,  last,  and  always  there  must  run  through 
all  other  disciplines,  the  study  which  a  great  educa- 
tional authority  has  declared  to  be  the  only  one  to  be 
required  of  every  student,  the  English  language.  I 
mean  by  this,  not  the  "taking  of  courses"  in  literature 
or,  beyond  a  rather  slight  minimum,  in  composition. 
I  mean  the  constant  watchfulness  over  the  application 
of  the  few  formal  rules  of  composition  in  one's  own 
speech  and  writing  and  in  those  of  others.  Especially 
I  would  emphasize  the  importance  for  the  theological 
candidate  of  cultivating  a  civilized  method  of  speaking, 
equally  removed  from  pedantry  on  the  one  hand  and 
from  slouchiness  on  the  other.  Bearing  in  mind  the 
absence  of  any  one  precise  standard  of  English  speech, 
it  will  be  well  worth  his  while  to  try  to  free  his  own 
tongue  from  dialectic  peculiarities  and  to  purify  his 
vocabulary  from  such  divagations  from  good  usage  as 


THE  MINISTER'S  EDUCATION        287 

tend  to  obscure  his  thought  or  to  weaken  his  power  of 
expression.  Slang,  delightful  as  it  is  in  its  aptness  to 
express  an  idea  familiar  to  the  moment,  is  sure  to  dull 
the  sense  of  values,  that  finer  shading  of  meanings 
which  gives  at  once  variety  and  definiteness  to  English 
style.  Dialects,  it  is  true,  are  the  life  of  language,  and 
it  would  be  the  height  of  stupidity  to  try  to  check  their 
resistless  flow,  but  the  educated  man  belongs  to  a  cos- 
mopolitan fraternity,  whose  password  is  a  speech  free 
from  marked  provincialisms.  The  cultivated  man  in 
Germany  steers  carefully  between  his  datives  and  ac- 
cusatives; in  England  he  watches  the  placing  of  his 
aspirates;  in  New  England  he  ought  not  to  need  an  "r" 
between  a  final  and  an  initial  vowel  and  in  the  South 
he  ought  to  have  overcome  an  over-fondness  for 
diphthongs. 

The  time  to  give  attention  to  these  apparently  trif- 
ling matters  is  during  the  years  of  preparation.  It  is 
then  that  the  subtle  influences  which  have  formed  the 
habits  of  expression  can  be  counteracted  by  conscious 
effort.  And  what  is  true  here  of  speech  is  equally  true 
of  writing.  The  first  simple  principles  of  English  prose 
writing  can  be  and  should  be  fixed  in  the  course  of  a 
sound  elementary  education.  Practice  in  carrying  out 
these  principles  should  be  continuous  throughout  one's 
whole  period  of  study.  I  am  not  recommending  the 
taking  of  courses  in  composition  except  as  they  offer 
opportunities  for  sympathetic  and  searching  criticism. 
The  value  of  such  criticism  is  almost  entirely  a  matter 
of  personality,  and  it  is  rarely  that  the  college  instruc- 
tor can  rise  very  much  above  the  level  of  rules  of 


288  LEARNING  AND  LIVING 

thumb  or  some  pet  formulas  aiming  at  literary  "cor- 
rectness." The  most  insidious  snare  of  the  ministerial 
candidate  is  literariness  in  any  of  its  alluring  forms. 
The  moment  he  finds  himself  achieving  "fine  writing" 
is  the  moment  for  calling  a  halt  and  toning  himself 
down  to  the  plain  standards  of  clearness  and  accuracy. 
It  will  be  time  enough  to  indulge  in  eloquence  when 
the  passion  of  his  apostleship  really  grips  him,  and 
then  there  will  be  no  question  of  literary  workman- 
ship. The  training  he  has  all  along  been  acquiring  will 
then  come  to  his  help,  saving  him  from  extravagance 
and  showing  him  instinctively  how  to  drive  his  mes- 
sage home.  The  weightiness  of  the  message  will  be  the 
sufficient  ballast  against  exuberance  or  affectation. 

I  would  not  disparage  too  greatly  direct  academic 
instruction  in  these  matters  of  expression,  but  I  am 
convinced  that  its  influence  is  feeble  in  comparison 
with  that  which  may  come  from  the  persistent  reading 
of  the  best  models.  It  may  sound  superfluous  to  urge 
upon  young  men  bound  for  this  or  any  other  literary 
profession  to  cultivate  during  their  academic  years  the 
habit  of  reading.  Two  generations  ago  this  caution 
would  have  been  less  needed.  At  that  time  the  require- 
ments of  college  were  deliberately  set  so  that  abundant 
leisure  might  be  left  for  that  kind  of  reading  which  was 
then  thought  of  as  something  lying  rather  beyond  the 
scope  of  academic  work.  Meanwhile  the  programs  of 
college  instruction  have  been  expanded  to  include 
every  conceivable  variety  of  intellectual  occupation. 
Every  corner  of  every  known  subject  has  been  made  the 
subject  of  special  instruction.  Leisure,  that  delightful 


THE  MINISTER'S  EDUCATION        289 

otium  which  is  neither  idleness  nor  "grind,"  has  pretty 
much  disappeared  from  the  horizon  of  the  serious  stu- 
dent, so  that  now  attempts  are  being  made  to  re- 
introduce  it  as  a  part  of  his  regular  discipline.  The 
latest  addition  to  the  resources  of  a  great  university 
library  is  a  room,  luxuriously  furnished  and  equipped 
with  a  noble  selection  of  the  best  literature  open  freely 
to  the  use  of  all  students.  The  attendant  informs  me 
that  one  of  her  chief  duties  is  to  prevent  the  abuse  of 
this  room  for  purposes  of  systematic  study. 

The  effect  of  reading  in  determining  one's  own  forms 
of  expression  must  depend  largely  upon  temperament. 
A  reader  who,  so  to  speak,  reads  aloud  to  himself, 
catching  the  rhythm  of  the  writer,  might  well  find  him- 
self so  absorbed  by  the  subtlety  of  the  style  that  his 
own  writing  would  be  a  mere  imitation  of  a  model. 
Another,  reading  without  ever  forming  to  himself  the 
writer's  sentences,  but  catching  the  meaning  by  a  kind 
of  intuition,  would  receive  no  impression  whatever 
from  the  style.  Such  a  reader  would  probably  do  well 
to  subject  himself  to  instruction,  hoping  to  acquire 
something  of  that  sensitiveness  to  form  which  will 
help  him  to  analyze  his  own  efforts  and  gradually  to 
improve  in  effectiveness.  An  ancient  friend  of  mine,  a 
man  of  taste,  singularly  detached  from  all  human  obli- 
gations, used  to  say  that  of  all  men  he  preferred  the 
society  of  Unitarian  clergymen,  because  they  were  the 
only  people  left  who  read  books.  Other  clergymen 
read  only  what  they  needed  for  their  doctrinal  pur- 
poses, and  the  rest  of  the  world  did  not  read  at  all.  It 
was  a  judgment  about  as  true  as  epigrammatic  judg- 


290  LEARNING  AND  LIVING 

ments  are  likely  to  be,  but  the  fragment  of  truth  it 
contained  is  worth  remarking.  It  was  passed  a  genera- 
tion ago,  and  we  may  well  ask  ourselves  whether  the 
rush  of  human  life  in  the  interval  is  likely  to  have  made 
a  change  for  the  better.  Certainly  the  clergyman  can 
form  no  more  valuable  habit  in  his  habit-forming 
years  than  this  of  serious  and  continuous  reading. 

If  we  have  been  right  in  assuming  that  the  modern 
minister  is  above  all  else  a  man  among  men,  claiming 
no  superiority  but  that  which  comes  from  training  and 
personality,  it  follows  that  beginning  with  his  academic 
years,  he  ought  to  cultivate  every  opportunity  of 
gaining  that  knowledge  of  other  men  which  is  the 
secret  of  social  influence.  He  should  combat  with 
especial  determination  every  tendency  to  aloofness 
from  the  interests  of  his  mates.  If  these  seem  trifling 
or  aimless  to  him,  he  may  be  sure  that  it  is  not  wholly 
because  they  are  really  so,  but  partly  at  least  because 
of  some  deficiency  in  himself  which  will  work  against 
his  largest  usefulness.  He  ought  to  try  to  identify  him- 
self with  their  sports,  their  social  organizations,  their 
petty  politics,  using  his  clearer  vision,  if  he  has  it,  to 
guide  them  into  better  and  wiser  ways.  In  such  effort 
he  will  find  guidance  for  himself  and  may  be  laying  the 
foundations  for  those  qualities  of  leadership  on  which 
his  future  success  is  to  depend.  Here  in  the  little  world 
of  the  college  he  can  learn  something  of  the  great  lesson 
of  keeping  oneself  in  the  world,  but  always  just  enough 
above  it  to  lift  it  up  a  little  to  higher  levels  of  thought 
and  action. 

So  we  come  to  the  question  which  is  our  main  topic, 


THE  MINISTER'S  EDUCATION        291 

the  strictly  professional  training  of  the  modern  min- 
ister.   Supposing  our  preliminary  demands  to  have 
been  met,  what  more  is  there  to  be  required?    Some 
great  authorities  would  reply:  nothing  more  than  a 
continuation  for  as  long  as  seems  practicable  of  the 
same  kind  of  training  in  much  the  same  subjects  as 
those  already  pursued.    Such  counsellors  would,  in 
other  words,  be  inclined  to  doubt  the  usefulness  of  all 
schools  of  theology,  strictly  so-called.    They  might 
favor  the  establishment  in  our  universities  of  chairs  of 
dogmatic  exposition,  to  be  as  free  as  possible  from 
sectarian  control,  but  otherwise  they  would  be  con- 
tented to  let  the  candidate  for  the  ministry  acquire  his 
knowledge  of  languages,  of  Church  History,  and  of  so- 
cial obligations  from  teachers  provided  in  the  several 
academic   departments   most   closely  related   to  his 
future  profession.    Of  course,  as  enlightened  men  of 
their  time,  they  would  urge  that  in  the  appointment  of 
university  professors,  the  needs  of  expectant  clergy- 
men should  be  consulted  as  well  as  those  of  other  pro- 
fessional candidates.    It  is  now  about  one  generation 
since  a  plan  of  this  sort  was  laid  before  the  Faculty  of 
Theology  of  an  important  university  by  a  president  to 
whom  the  interests  of  theological  study  were  a  matter 
of  very  deep  concern.  He  believed  that  those  interests 
would  be  better  served  by  abandoning  frankly  all  at- 
tempts at  framing  a  theological  curriculum  and  turn- 
ing the  candidate  loose  in  the  alluring  fields  of  history, 
economics,  languages,  social  science  and  what  not, 
requiring  only  that  his  studies  should  be  pursued 
seriously  and  with  "high  credit."   It  was  very  instruc- 


292  LEARNING  AND  LIVING 

tive  to  note  the  unanimity  with  which  the  Faculty, 
irrespective  of  departments,  of  age  and  of  previous 
training,  rejected  the  proposition. 

That  Faculty  believed  that  back  of  all  proficiency  in 
his  several  studies  there  must  be  for  the  successful 
minister  a  professional  character,  and  that  this  char- 
acter could  best  be  acquired  by  the  pursuit  of  a  certain 
group  of  studies  under  the  guidance  of  a  group  of  men 
professionally  interested  in  their  task.  Within  this 
limitation  they  were  willing  to  allow  the  largest  liberty 
of  choice  and  to  recognize,  subject  to  their  approval, 
the  instruction  of  men  not  members  of  their  group  as 
equally  entitled  to  credit  for  the  theological  degree. 
It  is  with  this  group  of  subjects  that  we  are  here  spe- 
cially concerned.  It  should  be  noted  that  almost  all  of 
them  are  in  varying  degrees  continuing  studies,  begun 
at  one  or  another  stage  of  the  preliminary  training. 
The  new  thing  about  them  all  is  their  relation  to  the 
professional  purpose. 

First  of  all  is  the  study  of  the  Bible.  No  sophistry  of 
a  too  ready  liberalism  can  obscure  the  fact  that  Chris- 
tianity, however  we  may  define  it,  rests  upon  a  body  of 
written  material,  and  it  would  seem  to  follow,  beyond 
all  cavil,  that  the  minister  of  Christianity  ought  to  be 
fortified,  above  all  else,  with  a  commanding  knowledge 
of  this  literature.  It  ought  to  be  fair  to  assume  that  he 
brings  with  him  to  his  professional  school  a  familiarity 
with  the  English  version  of  both  the  ancient  and  the 
newer  Scriptures,  but  even  this  is  to-day  a  rather  bold 
assumption.  Anyone  who  has  tested  the  knowledge  of 
the  Bible  possessed  by  the  Senior  class  in  a  respectable 


THE  MINISTER'S  EDUCATION        293 

college  will  need  no  further  evidence  of  the  neglect  into 
which  the  foundation  documents  of  the  religion  all 
these  youths  profess  have  fallen.  Even  granting  that 
the  theological  candidate  will  probably  be  rather 
better  off  in  this  respect,  it  remains  true  that  he  will 
need  a  great  deal  of  practice  before  he  can  be  sure  of 
the  kind  of  familiarity  with  the  English  versions  that 
will  stand  by  him  in  the  emergencies  of  his  profession. 
But  this  familiarity  is  far  from  sufficient  for  his  best 
success. 

In  opening  up  again  the  much  discussed  question  of 
study  in  the  original  languages  of  the  Scriptures,  I  am 
aware  that  there  is  not  much  left  to  be  said  on  either 
side  of  the  argument.  Against  the  requirement  of  a 
study  of  Hebrew  and  Greek  it  is  alleged,  with  much 
show  of  reason,  that  the  individual  clergyman  is  not 
likely  to  reach  such  proficiency  as  will  entitle  his  opin- 
ion to  have  any  weight  whatever  in  comparison  with 
the  matured  judgment  of  the  scholars  who  have  given 
their  best  powers  to  provide  the  English  versions.  For 
all  practical  purposes,  it  is  said,  these  versions  supply 
him  with  all  the  knowledge  of  Scripture  he  will  ever 
need.  Why  then  spend  the  precious  time  of  his  all  too 
short  preparation  in  painfully  acquiring  the  rudiments 
of  this  unnecessary  learning?  The  argument  is  as  spe- 
cious as  the  dictum  of  the  sage — let  us  call  him  Emerson 
-  that  he  would  never  read  an  original  if  he  could  get 
a  good  translation.  Our  English  versions,  noble  and 
beautiful  as  they  are,  faithful  in  the  main  to  the  general 
import  of  the  texts,  are  burdened  with  archaisms,  are 
influenced  by  the  theological  assumptions  of  the  trans- 


294  LEARNING  AND  LIVING 

lators,  and  are  often  obscure  in  their  manifold  impli- 
cations. Phrases  hallowed  by  usage  in  ways  never 
dreamed  of  by  their  writers,  demand  continued  inter- 
pretation by  every  possible  scholarly  aid.  To  give  such 
interpretation  is  the  business  of  teachers;  but  even  to 
understand  it  is  impossible  without  some  fairly  ade- 
quate knowledge  of  the  original  languages. 
Martin  Luther  was  right  when  he  said: 

This  we  cannot  deny,  that,  although  the  Gospel  came 
apd  daily  comes  through  the  Holy  Spirit  alone,  still  it  came 
through  the  medium  of  the  languages,  has  grown  by  them 
and  must  be  preserved  by  them.  According  as  we  love  the 
Gospel,  let  us  eagerly  study  the  languages,  and  let  us  not 
forget  that  we  cannot  well  hold  the  Gospel  firm  without 
them.  The  languages  are  the  sheath  in  which  the  dagger  of 
the  Spirit  rests;  they  are  the  casket  wherein  this  jewel  is 
enshrined;  the  chalice  wherein  this  drink  is  borne.  Because 
the  languages  have  now  come  to  the  fore  they  are  bringing 
such  a  light  and  doing  such  mighty  things  that  all  the 
world  marvels.  Therefore,  although  the  Doctrine  and  the 
Gospel  may  be  preached  by  simple  preachers  without  the 
languages,  yet  this  is  a  dull  and  weak  affair  and  men  at  last 
tire  of  it  and  after  all  fall  to  the  ground.  But  where  the 
languages  are,  there  all  is  fresh  and  vigorous,  the  text  is 
made  clear,  and  Faith  is  ever  renewed  through  new  and 
ever  new  words  and  works.1 

I  am  not  advocating  an  absolute  requirement  of 
either  Greek  or  Hebrew  for  the  first  degree  in  Theology, 
but  I  do  think  it  a  pity  that  any  really  serious  student 

1  M.  Luther,  An  die  Ratherren  aller  Staedte  deutsches  Lands,  dass  sie 
christliche  Schulen  aufrichten  und  halten  sollen.  1524.  Weimar  ed.  XV, 
37-4*. 


THE  MINISTER'S  EDUCATION         295 

who  desires  to  be  something  more  than  a  "simple 
preacher"  should  neglect  the  opportunity  of  help 
offered  by  his  teachers  to  acquire  a  working  command 
of  both.  For  a  higher  theological  degree  I  would  make 
them  an  ordinary  requirement.  I  urge  this  careful 
study  of  the  original  documents  fully  appreciating  the 
mass  of  material  that  has  accumulated  upon  them  to 
such  a  depth  that  they  are  almost  buried  out  of  sight, 
but  realizing  also,  perhaps  a  little  better  than  the  en- 
thusiastic youth,  how  in  every  time  of  crisis  men  are 
ready  to  throw  off  this  whole  superincumbent  mass 
and  go  back  to  the  first  simple  problem  of  the  meaning 
of  the  Christian  message.  It  is  for  such  critical  mo- 
ments that  the  student  should  consciously  prepare 
himself.  If  he  is  to  lead  then,  he  must  get  ready  now. 
Next  to  biblical  studies  we  may  fairly  place  that 
group  for  which  there  is  no  better  name  than  "  his- 
torical." Christianity  is  an  historical  phenomenon, 
originating  in  a  profoundly  interesting  human  situa- 
tion, developed  through  progressive  human  activities, 
of  which  the  making  of  a  literature  is  one,  and  em- 
bodied in  institutions  that  have  played  their  often 
decisive  part  in  the  larger  movements  of  humanity. 
It  would  seem,  therefore,  to  need  no  argument  to  prove 
that  historical  studies  are  of  the  greatest  importance 
for  the  student  of  Christianity.  In  fact  the  historical 
point  of  view  as  contrasted  with  the  supernatural  or 
inspirational  theory  of  Christian  origins  and  develop- 
ments is  a  thing  of  quite  recent  times.  It  is  rejected  by 
vast  sections  of  the  Christian  world  as  destructive  of 
all  those  traditions  they  hold  most  precious.  If  the 


296  LEARNING  AND  LIVING 

Protestant  ministry  is  to  defend  itself  against  such 
assumptions,  it  must  be  rooted  and  grounded  in  wide 
and,  in  the  best  sense,  scientific  study  of  the  Christian 
past.  Only  by  this  study  can  it  prepare  itself  for  the 
insidious  attacks  of  an  agressive  institutionalism  on  the 
one  hand  and  a  self-sufficient  individualism  on  the  other. 
There  are  three  branches  of  historical  study  espe- 
cially important  for  the  minister.  The  first  is  that  of 
institutions,  the  events  by  which  they  have  been  de- 
termined, and  their  manifold  interrelations  with  the 
parallel  movement  of  society  as  a  whole.  A  good  deal 
of  this  kind  of  Church  History  can  profitably  be  stud- 
ied in  college,  the  more  the  better,  since  it  furnishes  a 
very  good  thread  on  which  to  hang  the  study  of  "secu- 
lar" history.  It  would  be  an  excellent  thing  if  the  pro- 
fessional school  could  afford  to  assume  such  historical 
knowledge  and  go  on  from  it  to  the  other  two  branches 
of  more  purely  technical  inquiry.  The  first  of  these 
two  is  the  history  of  doctrines,  or,  to  give  it  a  more  in- 
telligent name,  the  history  of  Christian  Thought. 
That  name  is  better  because  it  expresses  a  more  com- 
prehensive idea  of  Christian  progress  on  its  intellectual 
side.  It  opens  the  way  for  an  equal  emphasis  upon 
those  movements  of  thought  dignified  by  the  reproach 
of  "heresy"  and  by  that  very  fact  commends  itself  to 
those  who  would  be  repelled  by  any  suggestion  of 
dogmatism.  I  venture  to  refer  to  my  own  experience 
as  witness  to  the  illuminating  effect  of  bringing  this 
truly  historical  way  of  looking  at  the  thought  of  Chris- 
tian teachers  to  the  attention  of  young  minds  hitherto 
accustomed  only  to  the  way  of  dogmatic  teaching  and 


THE  MINISTER'S  EDUCATION        297 

docile  acceptance.  Instead  of  a  series  of  formal  creeds, 
elaborated  by  human  ingenuity  at  critical  epochs, 
the  doctrine  of  Christianity,  studied  in  this  way,  be- 
comes a  record  of  continuous  honest  attempts  to  un- 
derstand and  to  express  the  ideas  it  had  to  contribute 
to  the  world's  religious  thought. 

Stimulating  to  the  historical  sense  as  such  study  of 
purely  Christian  thought  must  be,  the  third  topic 
under  this  heading  will  be  even  more  so.  Still  more 
recent  in  time,  the  subject  of  the  History  of  Religion  has 
taken  its  place  in  the  academic  world  with  astonishing 
rapidity  and  gratifying  success.  Its  mission  has  been 
to  show  Christianity  as  one  among  the  great  religions 
of  the  world,  not  the  earliest  nor  the  latest,  not  even  in 
any  abstract  sense  the  best  or  the  worst,  certainly  not 
the  last  form  under  which  the  religious  instinct  of  man- 
kind is  to  express  itself.  It  has  helped  to  abolish  for- 
ever that  hopeless  distinction  between  "natural"  and 
"revealed"  religion,  as  if  the  ways  of  God  to  man  were 
different  at  different  times.  It  has  demonstrated,  as 
nothing  else  has  done  or  could  do,  the  essential  unity  of 
the  religious  principle  and  therefore  the  essential 
dignity  of  every  attempt  to  give  to  this  principle  a 
form  suited  to  the  needs  of  a  given  time.  The  preacher 
of  Christianity  ought  to  find  his  apostleship  not 
weakened  by  familiarity  with  other  types  of  faith,  but 
clarified  and  strengthened.  On  the  practical  side,  he 
cannot  afford  to  forget  that  the  rivalry  of  religions  is  as 
active  to-day  as  it  ever  was,  and  that  at  any  moment  it 
may  flame  out  into  a  conflict  beside  which  the  clash  of 
political  structures  would  be  the  sport  of  children. 


298  LEARNING  AND  LIVING 

We  come  thus  to  the  study  which  forms  the  central 
point  of  the  minister's  preparation,  the  study  of  what, 
in  spite  of  much  opposition,  still  figures  on  the  pro- 
grams as  Systematic  Theology.  If  the  first  qualifica- 
tion of  the  historian  is  freedom  from  all  personal  and 
partisan  bias,  no  such  demand  can  be  made  upon  the 
theologian  when  he  leaves  the  field  of  historical  inquiry 
and  passes  over  into  that  of  speculative  thought.  If 
we  say  that  the  historian  must  be  "objective,"  as  free 
as  possible  from  "subjectivity,"  we  have  to  admit  that 
the  theologian  must  be  permitted  just  the  opposite 
standard.  If  his  conclusions  are  to  have  any  value 
whatever,  they  must  be  his  conclusions,  and  not  those 
of  any  one  else.  His  foundations  may  be  drawn  from 
every  possible  source,  but  the  structure  of  faith  he 
builds  upon  them  is  his  own  if  it  is  anything.  The  prob- 
lem of  the  theological  teacher  is,  therefore,  a  peculiarly 
delicate  one.  He  cannot  make  his  instruction  imper- 
sonal, unless  he  is  willing  to  look  upon  himself  as 
merely  the  mouthpiece  of  an  authority  which  has 
dictated  to  him  what  he  may  or  must  think,  a  vehicle 
by  which  the  material  thus  received  is  to  be  handed  on 
undiminished  and  uncorrupted  to  his  hearers.  That 
was  the  ancient  conception  of  the  teacher  of  systematic 
theology,  the  retailer  of  a  system  so  complete  and  so 
well  authenticated  that  it  could  be  handed  on  from 
generation  to  generation  with  a  minimum  of  intel- 
lectual effort. 

The  modern  clergyman  cannot  be  content  with  that 
kind  of  formalism.  He  demands  an  appeal  to  his  own 
powers  of  reflection  and  his  own  sense  of  religious 


THE  MINISTER'S  EDUCATION        299 

truth.  He  asks  of  his  instructors,  not  the  formal  state- 
ment of  the  confession  with  which  he  is  to  be  connected 
in  his  ministerial  work,  but  some  principle  of  thought 
by  which  he  can  interpret  for  himself  the  content  of 
what  is  presented  to  him  as  Christian  truth.  It  was 
very  instructive  to  observe  that  at  a  summer  school  of 
theology  held  by  a  "liberal"  faculty  of  theology,  the 
largest  attendance  through  a  series  of  years  came  from 
a  denomination  which  above  all  others  claims  for  itself 
a  special  authority  in  matters  of  faith.  It  would  be 
well  for  the  theological  candidate  if  he  could  bring 
himself  to  regard  all  his  other  work,  languages,  history, 
philosophy  as  so  many  contributions  to  this  one  central 
object  of  his  preparation  for  life.  If  as  the  result  he 
finds  his  inherited  beliefs  strengthened  and  illuminated 
it  will  be  well  with  him.  If  he  finds  them  weakened  or 
even  destroyed,  that  will  be  only  the  proof  that  he  is  on 
the  way  to  a  clearer  and  more  satisfying  view.  The 
prevailing  contempt  for  theological  study  is  chiefly 
owing  to  the  dead-and-alive  method  with  which  it  was 
formerly  conducted.  Rightly  interpreted  it  will  re- 
assert its  claim  to  be  in  the  true  sense  a  "science,"  per- 
haps even  in  due  lime  to  take  its  place  as  the  "  regina 
scientiarum  "  of  the  Erasmian  age. 

Whether  there  is  as  yet  such  a  thing  as  a  science  of 
Sociology  is  an  open  question  into  which  we  do  not 
need  to  enter.  It  is  not  very  difficult  to  show  that 
Sociology  can  be  understood  to  embrace  all  sciences 
that  have  to  do  with  human  life,  in  other  words  to  in- 
clude the  whole  volume  of  the  knowable;  but  that  is 
only  a  pretty  game  that  can  be  played  with  almost  any 


300  LEARNING  AND  LIVING 

branch  of  human  knowledge.  What  concerns  the  theo- 
logical candidate  is  that  there  is  certainly  a  group  of 
subjects  about  which  much  practical  knowledge  is 
attainable  and  which,  in  their  application  to  human 
living,  touch  very  nearly  the  daily  work  of  the  Chris- 
tian minister.  So  insistent  indeed  have  the  claims  of 
these  subjects  become  in  recent  years,  that  they  have 
seemed  dangerously  near  to  crowding  out  all  the  other 
branches  of  ministerial  education.  They  have  been  an 
accompaniment,  perhaps  also  a  result  of  the  rapid 
spread  of  social  ideas  that  have  seemed  to  place  the 
body,  its  safety,  its  comfort,  its  convenience,  its  pres- 
ervation in  the  forefront  of  our  interests.  From 
"drainage  to  divorce,"  we  have  had  to  run  the  gamut 
of  social  unrest  and  social  reform.  It  has  been  a 
splendid  display  of  energy,  and  its  work  seems  only 
begun. 

The  question  for  the  theological  student  is,  how  far 
it  is  worth  his  while  to  go  in  these  apparently  necessary 
and  certainly  very  attractive  subjects.  In  answering 
this  question  he  ought,  I  think,  to  put  away  from  him 
all  thought  of  expertness.  If  he  once  allows  that  stand- 
ard to  rise  before  him,  he  is  sure  to  be  undone.  Others 
will  certainly  get  ahead  of  him,  and  his  time  and  atten- 
tion, withdrawn  from  other  things,  will  be  wasted. 
The  best  he  can  do  is  to  inform  himself  as  to  the  nature 
of  the  social  problems  suggested  by  the  several  topics 
of  inquiry,  make  some  acquaintance  with  their  litera- 
ture and  with  the  agencies  at  work  in  the  various  fields, 
and  then  try  to  see  if  he  can  how  they  are  all  bound  to- 
gether by  some  common  principle  of  religious  obliga- 


THE  MINISTER'S  EDUCATION        301 

tion.  If  he  cannot  or  will  not  do  this,  he  had  better 
quit  the  profession  of  the  ministry  altogether  before  it 
is  too  late  and  join  the  procession  of  the  disillusioned 
who  have  turned  to  the  many  forms  of  "social  service" 
and  found  there  the  kind  of  usefulness  they  would 
never  have  attained  as  messengers  of  a  religious  gospel. 
But,  it  will  be  asked,  can  this  kind  of  spiritual  inter- 
pretation of  the  social  call  be  set  forth  in  any  formal 
instruction  ?  Is  not  that  something  that  each  man  must 
work  out  for  himself  in  the  long  travail  of  his  parish 
experience?  Well,  that  depends  almost  entirely  on  the 
quality  of  the  teacher.  It  is  a  rare  man  who  can  so  lift 
both  himself  and  his  pupils  above  the  raw  details  of  the 
social  struggle  as  to  clear  them  from  their  manifold 
perplexities  and  show  them  in  the  perspective  of  their 
simple  relation  to  the  ministry  of  Christian  hope.  If 
the  pupil  is  fortunate  enough  to  come  within  the  in- 
fluence of  such  a  teacher,  he  is  not  likely  to  go  far 
wrong  in  yielding  to  its  persuasions.  If  not,  he  will  do 
well  to  keep  pretty  safely  within  the  limits  of  the  detail 
I  have  suggested  and  try  to  work  out  for  himself  the 
needful  applications  to  his  professional  work. 

We  come  finally  to  that  group  of  studies  which  have 
to  do  with  the  outward  expression  of  whatever  the 
student  may  gain  from  all  his  other  occupations. 
Much  that  might  be  said  here  has  been  anticipated  in 
our  references  to  preliminary  training.  The  work  in 
English  writing,  begun  in  the  elementary  school,  con- 
tinued and  amplified  in  the  high  school  and  in  college, 
must  be  carried  forward  with  especial  application  to 
the  minister's  needs.  If  it  is  true  that  the  central  in- 


302  LEARNING  AND  LIVING 

terest  of  the  Protestant  minister  is  in  the  moral  and 
religious  appeal  to  the  individual,  it  would  seem  to 
follow  without  question  that  the  center  of  the  student's 
interest,  so  far  as  this  matter  of  expression  is  concerned 
should  be  the  preparation  of  the  sermon.  And  yet  I 
venture  to  think  that  there  is  no  department  of  theo- 
logical education  that  is  likely  to  receive  a  more  step- 
motherly treatment  than  this.  With  the  increasing 
emphasis  upon  "scholarship"  that  has  marked  the 
great  advance  in  equipment  in  all  other  fields,  the  arts 
of  expression  have  been  crowded  into  corners.  They 
have  been  degraded  by  association  with  "elocution- 
ary" performance  and,  in  so  far  as  they  have  yielded 
to  these  depressing  influences  they  have  earned  a  well- 
merited  contempt.  The  fact  remains,  however,  that 
the  minister  as  well  as  the  actor  must  "get  it  across," 
not  indeed  by  the  same  methods  —  God  forbid!  —  but 
with  equal  attention  to  the  process.  "Do  you  think  it 
is  possible,"  asked  the  committee  of  a  metropolitan 
church  in  the  midst  of  a  business  district,  "to  hold  a 
congregation  any  longer  in  this  place?"  "Certainly," 
replied  the  pastor  who  favored  a  removal  "I  could 
pack  this  church  every  Sunday  if  I  would  stand  on  my 
head  in  the  pulpit."  It  is  not  the  arts  of  the  mounte- 
bank that  we  have  to  consider,  but  on  the  other  hand 
it  is  idle  to  forget  that  speaking  and  writing  are  arts 
that  can  be  taught  and  must  be  learned  if  the  highest 
efficiency  is  to  be  attained.  The  clergyman  who 
mounts  his  pulpit  with  a  hang-dog  expression,  who 
never  looks  his  congregation  in  the  face,  who  mumbles 
his  words,  who  misplaces  his  emphasis,  who  stumbles 


THE  MINISTER'S  EDUCATION       303 

over  his  reading,  who  bellows  about  nothing  and  whis- 
pers the  essential  point,  may  be  filled  with  the  breath 
of  the  Holy  Spirit,  but  what  use  is  it  if  he  cannot  get 
it  out? 

Much  hearing  of  sermons  by  many  preachers  should 
convince  any  one  that  the  drift  in  recent  years  toward 
what  is  called  ex  tempore  preaching  needs  careful 
watching.  The  argument  for  it  is  very  specious.  It  is 
said  that  the  free  speaker  comes  more  closely  into 
touch  with  the  listener,  that  there  is  a  spontaneity 
about  his  utterance  that  holds  the  attention  and  wins 
the  sympathy  of  an  audience.  That  is,  of  course,  pre- 
cisely what  the  young  preacher  wants  to  do,  and  he  is 
easily  led  to  believe  that  the  way  to  do  it  is  to  begin 
with  free  speaking.  The  matter  of  what  he  has  to  say 
is  a  secondary  consideration;  even  the  form  of  his 
speech  may  be  overlooked.  The  main  thing  is  to 
speak  "without  notes,"  not  to  hesitate,  to  keep  going, 
to  look  the  people  in  the  face,  not "  to  let  a  manuscript 
stand  between  himself  and  them."  All  that  has  a  very 
seductive  sound,  but  many  a  useful  preacher  has  been 
wrecked  upon  this  shoal.  The  analogy  between  the  ex 
tempore  speaker  and  the  writer  of  "free  verse"  is  in- 
structive. One  cannot  help  suspecting  that  the  free- 
versifier  is  that  because  he  lacks  the  power  and  the 
discipline  to  express  himself  in  more  canonical  form, 
and  the  same  suspicion  rests  upon  the  too  ready 
preacher.  He  too  may  well  be  trying  to  "get  by"  with- 
out the  effort  of  shaping  his  thought  in  more  logical 
and  therefore  more  convincing  form.  The  whole  ques- 
tion was  never  put  more  acutely  than  by  the  late 


304  LEARNING  AND  LIVING 

Phillips  Brooks  in  an  answer  I  once  heard  him  make  to 
an  inquiring  student  who  had  asked  him  whether  he 
thought  the  ex  tempore  sermon  was  preferable  to  the 
written  one.  "I  don't  think  it  makes  any  difference" 
said  the  great  preacher  "provided  only  that  the  ser- 
mon was  once  ex  tempore."  That  touched  the  very  root 
of  the  matter.  The  freely  spoken  sermon  may  lack 
every  trace  of  the  ex  tempore  quality,  and  the  written 
sermon  may  glow  with  all  the  fervor  of  inspired  utter- 
ance. It  all  depends  upon  whether  at  the  moment  of 
its  production,  in  the  study  or  in  the  pulpit,  the 
preacher's  own  soul  was  on  fire  with  the  message  he 
had  to  give. 

I  have  stood  for  hours  in  the  midst  of  standing 
throngs  crowding  the  nave  of  a  great  cathedral  and 
listening  to  preachers  trained  with  all  the  art  of  a  noble 
tradition  driving  home  to  the  deepest  consciousness  of 
their  hearers  what  they  believed  to  be  the  essential 
truths  of  Christianity.  Every  word  and  sentence  of 
those  sermons  was  placed  in  accordance  with  pre- 
scribed rules,  but  they  came  forth  in  torrential  floods, 
as  if  they  had  but  that  moment  taken  shape  in  the 
speaker's  mind.  Awe-stricken  faces,  many  with 
streaming  tears,  were  the  witness  to  the  convincing 
force  of  this  well  prepared,  but  seemingly  spontaneous 
eloquence.  There  is  no  doubt  that  skill  in  ex  tempore 
discourse  can  be  cultivated  and  that  it  is  worth  culti- 
vating. I  am  only  cautioning  the  beginner  against  a 
false  order  of  proceeding.  Let  him  be  sure  that  his  gun 
is  well  loaded  before  he  tries  to  fire  it. 

One  more  subject  in  this  group  of  the  expressive  arts 


THE  MINISTER'S  EDUCATION        305 

remains  to  be  considered.  Under  the  heading  of  "  pas- 
toral care  "or  "the  minister's  office"  or  by  whatever 
other  phrase  it  may  be  described,  the  personal  relation 
of  the  pastor  to  his  people  is  the  most  delicate  and 
the  most  elusive  of  all  his  responsibilities.  What  the 
sermon  is  to  the  congregation  as  a  whole  that  is  the 
pastoral  visit  or  the  passing  word  or  the  friendly  mes- 
sage to  the  individual  parishioner.  One  is  tempted  to 
dismiss  this  function  of  the  minister  without  further 
comment  as  too  intimate  for  any  effective  academic 
treatment.  One  fears  that  any  formal  instruction  given 
classwise  would  degenerate  into  laying  down  certain 
"tricks  of  the  trade"  by  which  the  novice  might  simu- 
late the  feeling  he  cannot  really  have  and  tide  himself 
over  the  first  and  worst  emotional  strain  of  professional 
sympathy.  It  is  even  a  debatable  question  whether 
this  side  of  the  minister's  traditional  activities  may 
not  well  be  eliminated  altogether  or  deputed  to  as- 
sistants specially  gifted.  One  cannot  be  everything,  it 
is  said,  and  the  community  may  think  itself  fortunate 
if  it  secures  from  its  clergyman  one  or  two  kinds  of 
service,  without  reproaching  him  for  failure  in  the 
rest. 

The  answer  to  these  doubts  and  objections  is  this: 
that  it  is  precisely  in  this  personal  contact  with  the 
pressing  realities  in  the  daily  life  of  the  men  and 
women  about  him,  that  the  minister  finds  the  unfailing 
source  of  inspiration  for  all  his  other  activities.  In  the 
experiences  of  his  people  he  sees  reflected  the  interests 
that  are  engaging  the  masses  of  society  as  a  whole. 
From  them  he  learns  what  subjects  of  study  may  best 


306  LEARNING  AND  LIVING 

reward  the  time  he  has  for  study.  In  the  joys  and  sor- 
rows of  their  lives  he  touches  the  springs  of  motive 
that  give  the  clue  for  the  moral  appeal  of  his  sermon. 
From  them  he  may  draw  lessons  of  hope  and  courage 
that  will  help  to  sustain  him  in  the  perplexities  of  his 
own  exacting  duties.  Undoubtedly  it  is  more  true  here 
than  elsewhere  that  the  real  preparation  for  the  work 
must  come  in  the  doing  of  it;  but  here  too  there  is 
abundant  opportunity  for  anticipation.  There  are 
teachers  who,  out  of  their  own  experience,  can  point 
out  the  snares  that  beset  the  path  of  the  untried  youth 
venturing  for  the  first  time  into  the  intimacies  of  parish 
duty.  There  are  cautions  to  be  given  and  positive 
suggestions  to  be  made  on  many  points  that  would 
otherwise  escape  the  novice.  Better  still  there  are  en- 
couragements and  compensations  to  be  pointed  out 
that  may  remove  many  honest  scruples  and  unneces- 
sary anxieties. 

And  this  leads  me  to  revert  for  a  moment  to  a  sug- 
gestion made  in  passing,  that  the  education  of  the 
minister  may  profitably  be  extended  beyond  the  close 
of  his  academic  years  by  something  like  an  apprentice- 
ship in  the  workshop  of  a  senior  craftsman.  An  apology 
for  such  a  system  exists  indeed  in  the  doubtful,  if  not 
wholly  pernicious  practice  of  permitting  students  of 
theology  to  undertake  regular  or  substitute  duties  dur- 
ing their  academic  residence.  Much  observation  leads 
me  to  think  that  this  practice  is  as  unwise  as  it  would 
be  to  permit  students  in  law  or  medicine  to  practice 
their  professions.  The  time  of  preparation  is  too  pre- 
cious to  be  invaded  by  the  all  too  engrossing  demands 


THE  MINISTER'S  EDUCATION        307 

of  practice.  Such  objection  does  not  in  the  least  apply 
to  the  apprenticeship  plan.  There,  working  under  the 
supervision  of  an  experienced  guide,  the  young  man  is 
given  his  opportunity  to  try  his  strength  in  ways 
suited  to  his  stage  of  development.  Above  all  he  may 
be  steered  among  the  rocks  and  shoals  of  pastoral  duty 
until  the  rudder  is  safe  in  his  hands.  There  ought  to  be 
between  every  school  of  theology  and  some  group  of 
parishes  a  standing  agreement  for  this  prolongation  of 
the  minister's  education.  It  would  strengthen  the 
school  and  it  would  be  a  guarantee  to  the  parishes  of  a 
continuous  supply  of  useful  assistance. 

These  are  the  four  groups  of  studies,  no  one  of  which 
the  candidate  for  the  modern  ministry  can  afford  to 
neglect.  In  the  linguistic  he  prepares  his  foundations. 
In  the  historical  he  makes  his  background.  In  the 
social  he  finds  the  program  for  his  systematic  activities, 
and  in  the  expressive  he  sharpens  the  tools  he  has  to 
work  with.  The  proportion  in  which  each  group  shall 
enter  into  his  preparation  is  a  problem  for  every  in- 
dividual. The  best  that  experience  can  do  is  to  point 
out  the  values  and  leave  the  decision  where  finally  it 
must  always  rest,  in  the  hopeful  enthusiasm  of  those 
whose  experience  is  yet  to  come. 


THE  PLACE  OF  HISTORY  IN 
THEOLOGICAL  STUDY 

AN  ADDRESS  TO  THEOLOGICAL  STUDENTS 

AT  a  recent  conference  of  teachers  and  students  of 
History  I  was  engaged  in  conversation  by  a  per- 
son whom  I  judged  to  belong  to  the  race  of  so-called 
"Educators,"  and  who  proceeded  to  enlighten  me  with 
his  views  about  History.  "The  trouble  with  our  His- 
tory nowadays,"  he  declared,  "is  that  it  is  too  retro- 
spective," and  during  the  rather  bad  quarter  of  an  hour 
which  he  gave  me  this  phrase  kept  recurring  like  a 
refrain  in  his  discourse:  "Our  History  nowadays  is 
too  retrospective!"  Precisely  what  he  meant  I  did  not 
discover.  Whether  he  had  some  vague  idea  that  His- 
tory ought  to  concern  itself  more  with  the  present  or 
with  the  future  was  not  clear,  nor  did  it,  in  his  case, 
make  any  very  great  difference.  He  had  got  his  phrase, 
and  that,  for  an  Educator,  is  the  main  thing. 

More  important,  however,  was  the  remark  which 
I  once  heard  made  by  one  of  my  colleagues  in  this 
Faculty  that  he  sometimes  feared  that  our  teaching  of 
Theology  —  he  was  using  the  word  in  its  larger  mean- 
ing—  was  too  historical.  That  remark  I  thought  I 
understood,  and  it  was  and  is  worthy  of  consideration. 
It  meant,  I  suppose,  that  we  were  inclined,  in  planning 
our  courses  of  study,  to  give  especial  weight  to  those 
dealing  with  the  historical  aspects  of  our  general  sub- 
ject, and  our  colleague  thought  that  we  ought  to  en- 

309 


3io  LEARNING  AND  LIVING 

large  the  scope  of  our  program,  so  as  to  change  the 
balance  of  interest  rather  to  the  side  of  what  were 
coming  to  be  called  the  more  practical  aspects  of  the 
profession  for  which  we  were  supposed  to  be  preparing 
young  men. 

The  suggestion  was  a  certain  challenge  to  those  who 
were  more  specially  concerned  with  the  obviously  his- 
torical side  of  our  common  work,  to  examine  anew  the 
nature  of  their  contribution  to  the  total  result  and  to 
ask  themselves  whether  they  were  in  fact  asking  too 
large  a  share  of  the  attention  of  men  who  were,  after 
all,  mainly  concerned  with  preparing  themselves  to 
help  along  in  the  struggle  of  the  present  and  were  nat- 
urally looking  forward  to  an  uncertain  but  infinitely 
appealing  future.  As  soon  as  this  examination  began  it 
became  evident  that  the  term  "historical"  could  not 
be  confined  to  those  subjects  which  were  offered  as 
parts  of  a  course  in  what  used  to  be  called  "Historical 
Theology,"  in  other  words,  to  the  department  of 
Church  History.  If  we  use  the  word  historical  as  im- 
plying simply  a  relation  with  the  past  it  is  clear  that  it 
applies  equally  well  to  the  study  of  the  languages  in 
which  the  fundamental  documents  of  Christianity  are 
written.  The  mind  of  the  student  of  Hebrew  or  Greek 
is  turned  toward  the  past  even  though  he  restrict  him- 
self for  the  moment  to  the  most  purely  linguistic  as- 
pects of  his  study.  The  dullest  pupil  of  the  dullest 
teacher  cannot  fail  to  have  some  intuition  that  these 
grammatical  puzzles  were  once  the  living  forms  of  ex- 
pression of  human  beings  who  had  something  to  say 
and  who  said  it  so  well  that  their  words  have  never 


HISTORY  IN  THEOLOGICAL  STUDY    311 

been  allowed  to  fade  out  of  the  consciousness  of  the 
generations  who  have  followed  them.  No  matter  how 
blind  the  professional  linguist  may  have  become  to  the 
humane  aspects  of  his  study  —  and  Heaven  knows  he 
has  been  blind  enough  —  he  has  never  been  able  quite 
to  ignore  them  and  in  spite  of  him  they  have  reasserted 
themselves  whenever  humanely  minded  persons  have 
called  attention  to  them.  In  other  words  the  historical 
nature  of  linguistic  study  becomes  evident  the  moment 
one  gets  away  from  the  mere  words  to  the  living  per- 
sonality that  lies  behind  them.  The  study  of  language, 
if  it  is  a  live  study,  is  a  study  of  history.  If  it  is  not  a 
study  of  history  it  is  a  dead  study. 

A  similar  line  of  reflection  is  forced  upon  us  when 
we  consider  the  more  distinctively  speculative  side  of 
theological  study  or,  if  you  please,  theology  proper. 
Here,  obviously,  is  a  field  in  which  the  purely  subjec- 
tive element  of  personal  opinion  and  personal  judg- 
ment plays  a  predominant  part.  There  can  be  no  such 
thing  as  a  theology  which  is  not  somebody's  theology. 
If  it  be  the  theology  of  a  certain  teacher,  it  must  have 
its  sources  somewhere  outside  of  his  own  mind.  These 
sources  cannot  be  wholly  in  the  influences  of  the  pres- 
ent, however  powerful  these  may  be.  They  must, 
therefore,  be  drawn  from  the  past,  and  thus  here  again 
we  find  ourselves  in  the  region  of  the  historical.  The 
speculative  theologian,  the  moment  he  tries  to  give 
account  to  himself  of  the  faith  that  is  in  him,  is  inev- 
itably drawn  away  from  himself  into  the  company  of 
those  who  through  all  the  ages  before  him  have  busied 
themselves  with  the  same  problems.  In  agreement 


3i2  LEARNING  AND  LIVING 

with  them  he  finds  the  support  of  his  own  conclusions. 
In  his  differences  from  them  he  is  led  to  sharper  defini- 
tions of  his  own  faith  and  to  higher  sanctions  for  his 
own  certainties.  Individualist  though  he  may  be,  he 
cannot  escape  the  past.  If  as  a  teacher  he  tries  to  make 
clear  to  others  the  results  of  his  own  thought,  he  finds 
the  best  method  to  be  a  comparison  with  the  thoughts 
of  those  who  have  gone  before  him.  In  other  words  he 
is  almost  inevitably  led  into  a  more  or  less  formal  ex- 
position of  the  history  of  the  ideas  he  has  formulated 
for  himself. 

In  these  two  important  divisions  of  the  theological 
program  then,  the  linguistic  and  the  speculative,  we 
find  a  large  historical  element  thrusting  itself  insist- 
ently upon  the  attention  of  any  one  who  busies  himself 
in  these  fields.  So  evident  has  this  become  to  the 
makers  of  academic  programs  that  gradually  spe- 
cifically historical  courses  have  been  added  to  the 
offerings  within  the  narrower  departmental  limits. 
Histories  of  the  Hebrew  people,  early  and  late;  his- 
tories of  the  related  Semites;  histories  of  the  peoples 
first  reached  by  the  teaching  of  Jesus;  histories  of 
Christian  doctrines;  histories  of  philosophic  systems  as 
adjuncts  to  speculative  theology.  Indeed  signs  have 
not  been  wanting  that  these  more  specifically  historical 
studies  might  in  time  crowd  out  the  other  more  strictly 
technical  subjects,  or  at  any  rate  crowd  them  into  such 
narrow  limits  that  their  vitality  would  be  seriously  en- 
dangered. The  indifference  to  purely  linguistic  studies 
which  has  so  strongly  marked  all  academic  discussion 
in  the  last  generation  has  been  projected  into  the  field 


HISTORY  IN  THEOLOGICAL  STUDY    313 

of  theology.  We  have  had  to  be  satisfied  with  know- 
ing something  about  things  instead  of  knowing  the 
things  themselves.  A  similar  indifference  as  to  the- 
ological opinions  has  had  similar  results  in  turning  men 
from  vigorous  and  independent  thinking  to  the  record 
of  what  other  men  have  thought.  In  both  cases  the 
historical  has  been  asserting  itself  with  increasing 
effect  as  against  the  technical. 

There  remains  to  be  considered  the  third  division  of 
theological  studies,  those  commonly  described  as  the 
practical  studies,  the  duties  of  the  minister,  the  admin- 
istration of  all  that  activity  now  known  as  "social 
service,"  the  cultivation  of  the  more  purely  religious 
aspects  of  the  pastoral  life.  Here  at  least,  one  might 
suppose,  would  be  found  a  region  into  which  the  his- 
torical element  has  not  penetrated.  Yet,  even  here  the 
attention  of  students  has  been  directed  to  the  achieve- 
ments of  their  predecessors  in  the  work  of  the  ministry, 
the  sermons,  for  example,  of  famous  preachers  from 
Chrysostom  to  Brooks,  the  history  of  philanthropic 
experiments,  the  great  works  of  meditative  piety  that 
have  survived  from  the  "  ages  of  faith."  So  that, 
whichever  way  we  turn,  we  find  our  studies  permeated 
throughout  by  this  legacy  of  the  past.  It  may  well  be 
that  our  colleague  was  right  in  raising  the  question 
whether  our  program  were  not  too  historical. 

Certainly  since  that  question  was  raised  there  has 
been  a  notable  change  of  emphasis  in  most  of  the  dis- 
cussions upon  this  point.  More  and  more  we  have  been 
reminded  that  the  practical  studies  must  be  given  a 
larger  share  in  our  consideration.  We  have  even  been 


3 14  LEARNING  AND  LIVING 

threatened  that  if  we  failed  to  hear  this  warning  our 
students,  present  and  prospective,  would  take  the  mat- 
ter into  their  own  hands  and  simply  leave  on  one  side 
all  those  studies  which  seemed  to  them  too  historical 
to  be  of  any  use.  Alluring  pictures  have  been  drawn  of 
a  preparation  for  the  ministry  in  which  air  the  "dead" 
things  should  be  eliminated  and  only  those  things  that 
were  alive  in  the  living  present  should  be  retained.  The 
ministry,  it  has  been  said,  must  share  with  all  other 
professions  the  great  advance  in  all  practical  ways  that 
has  marked  our  century.  The  historical  must  be  sub- 
ordinated to  the  actual. 

All  this  is  inspiring  and  in  its  way  admirable.  This 
new  enthusiasm  of  humanity,  with  all  its  crudenesses 
and  vaguenesses,  cannot  fail  to  have  its  splendid  re- 
actions upon  the  thought  and  the  activities  of  the 
youth  who  are  coming  under  its  quickening  influence. 
None  the  less,  but  rather  the  more  is  it  incumbent 
upon  those  who  are  more  directly  concerned  with  the 
study  of  the  past  from  time  to  time  to  justify  their  ex- 
istence by  showing,  if  they  can,  the  true  practicality  of 
the  disciplines  they  represent.  We  can  no  longer  ask 
young  men  to  accept  an  educational  system  merely  on 
the  strength  of  its  antiquity.  I  should  like,  therefore, 
to  indicate  very  briefly  what  seem  to  me  some  of  the 
actual  values  of  historical  study  to  the  student  of 
Theology. 

I  have  been  using  the  words  "history"  and  "the 
past"  as  if  they  were  almost  synonymous  terms,  but 
this  occupation  with  the  past  is  only  one  of  the  aspects 
under  which  History  has  to  be  considered.  Another  of 


HISTORY  IN  THEOLOGICAL  STUDY    315 

its  qualities  is  that  of  causal  sequence.  The  constant 
lesson  of  historical  study  is  the  absolute  certainty  of 
cause  and  effect.  Nothing  in  history  happens  without 
preparation,  and  nothing  happens  without  conse- 
quences. It  is  the  business  of  the  historical  student  to 
trace  these  preparations  and  these  consequences  as  far 
and  as  accurately  as  he  can.  No  date  and  no  event 
stands  by  itself.  No  matter  how  famous  it  may  have 
become,  so  that  even  by  itself  it  seems  to  have  value; 
it  is  really  without  significance  until  it  can  be  set  in  its 
proper  relations  to  all  that  went  before  and  all  that 
follows  it.  These  things  are  easily  stated.  They  sound 
like  the  commonest  of  commonplaces;  but  they  are  as 
easily  forgotten.  Test  any  historical  writing  by  this 
standard  and  you  will  find  that  unconsciously  to  him- 
self the  writer  has  often  allowed  himself  to  slip  into  the 
easy  and  pleasant  attitude  of  wonderment  and  to  forget 
the  stern  canon  of  accuracy.  History  is  not,  as  it  has 
often  been  presented,  a  recital  of  marvels;  it  is  the  un- 
folding of  a  law.  I  am  not  saying  that  the  historian 
knows  the  law  by  which  the  course  of  human  affairs  is 
guided.  If  he  did  he  would  be  a  god,  and  there  would 
be  no  function  for  him  as  an  historian.  If  the  law  were 
known  there  would  be  no  need  of  History.  The  im- 
portant thing  is  to  accept  the  fact  of  law  and  then  do 
what  we  can  to  interpret  its  action. 

The  constant  preoccupation  of  the  historian  with 
this  idea  of  an  unfolding  record,  even  though  the  ulti- 
mate solution  eludes  his  grasp,  begets  an  attitude  of 
mind  which  cannot  fail  to  be  of  service  to  the  student 
of  theology.  His  temptation  is,  I  conceive,  to  dwell 


316  LEARNING  AND  LIVING 

upon  the  unusual,  the  startling,  the  "luminous  sur- 
prises" which  have  often  been  presented  as  the  most 
convincing  proofs  of  a  divine  order.  The  miraculous, 
with  its  almost  universal  appeal  to  the  sense  of  wonder, 
is  the  ever  present  illusion  before  the  mind  of  the  the- 
ologian, drawing  him  away  from  the  regular,  the  or- 
dinary, the  common,  as  from  something  inferior  or 
even  degrading.  He  is  in  danger  of  thinking  that  it  is 
only  the  uncommon  that  is  significant.  He  is  tempted 
to  search  for  the  strange  and  the  exceptional.  The 
world  of  mysteries  has  an  especial  attraction  for  him. 
The  mere  fact  that  a  given  phenomenon  seems  to  have 
no  discoverable  cause  commends  it  to  him  as  worthy  of 
especial  attention.  He  is  in  constant  danger  of  slipping 
into  the  definition  of  faith  as  "belief  in  something  you 
know  isn't  true." 

It  is,  therefore,  of  great  importance  that  in  the  form- 
ative period  of  his  thought  he  should  be  on  his  guard 
against  these  subtle  and  agreeable  forms  of  temptation; 
and  I  can  suggest  no  better  defense  than  a  continuous 
and  thoughtful  occupation  with  historical  study. 
Often  in  the  course  of  my  teaching  I  have  found  stu- 
dents to  whom  the  slow  and  careful  methods  of  the 
historian  seemed  altogether  unworthy  of  their  individ- 
ual genius.  They  were  impatient  with  the  detail  and 
the  insistence  upon  accuracy.  Their  minds  were  al- 
ways soaring  in  a  higher  region  in  which  the  air  seemed 
purer  and  their  sprouting  wings  seemed  to  find  a  bet- 
ter support.  Their  own  exuberant  fancy  seemed  to 
them  much  more  interesting  than  the  record  of  the  mis- 
takes of  other  people  in  the  nearer  or  the  remoter  past. 


HISTORY  IN  THEOLOGICAL  STUDY    317 

Why  take  precious  time  to  learn  of  other  men's  faults 
or  failures?  It  is  clear  that  argument  could  be  of  little 
avail  in  such  cases,  and  I  for  one  have  never  tried  it 
very  thoroughly.  I  have  only  tried  to  persuade  such  a 
youth  to  keep  at  it  even  against  his  will,  and  it  has  been 
one  of  the  best  satisfactions  of  my  teaching  life  to  see 
how,  gradually,  the  habit  of  patient  following  out  of 
cause  and  effect  has  modified  the  other  habit  of  the 
student's  mind.  It  has  helped  him  to  keep  his  feet 
upon  the  ground  and  to  make  him  see  that  one  must, 
after  all,  have  some  ground  to  stand  on.  It  has  helped 
to  draw  him  away  from  the  vague  and  the  nebulous  in 
his  thinking  and  cause  him  to  demand  for  himself  a 
clearness  which  he  can  then  perhaps  learn  in  some 
measure  to  convey  to  others. 

Again,  History  is  of  value  to  the  theologian  because 
it  helps  him  to  judge  of  the  nature  and  weight  of  ev- 
idence. In  historical  study  everything  depends  upon 
evidence.  This  first  canon  of  historical  science  is  abso- 
lute. It  has  been  recognized  by  every  historian  from 
Herodotus  down.  It  has  been  put  forth  with  varying 
degrees  of  emphasis  by  the  numerous  writers  on  his- 
torical method,  who  have  done  what  they  could  to 
place  the  study  and  writing  of  History  on  a  scientific 
basis.  In  fact  it  seems  almost  unnecessary  even  to 
state  so  apparently  obvious  a  fact.  Nobody,  it  will  be 
said,  ever  imagined  that  history  could  be  created  out  of 
any  one's  head.  Of  course  it  rests  on  evidence.  And 
yet  there  is  no  canon  of  the  historian  that  has  been 
more  systematically  violated  than  this.  The  violation 
begins  with  Herodotus  himself,  and  his  violations  are 


3i8  LEARNING  AND  LIVING 

of  the  type  which  especially  interests  us  here.  The 
Father  of  History  did  indeed  take  infinite  pains  to  in- 
form himself  about  the  peoples  and  the  events  he  tries 
to  describe,  but  though  he  sought  diligently  for  evi- 
dence he  had  a  childlike  indifference  to  the  nature  of 
the  source  from  which  his  evidence  was  drawn.  The 
more  marvellous  the  tale,  the  more  it  interested  him. 
He  would  invent  nothing;  he  would  accept  nothing 
that  was  not  known  to  his  informant,  but  he  had  the 
largest  charity  as  to  the  remoter  sources  from  which 
the  informant  might  have  derived  his  alleged  knowl- 
edge. Hearsay  evidence  was  as  good  as  any  other,  pro- 
vided only  it  came  from  what  was  reported  to  be  a 
trustworthy  source.  And  this  example  was  followed. 
In  the  ages  of  easy  faith,  to  doubt  any  spoken  or  writ- 
ten word  was  regarded  as  an  indication  of  a  perverse 
mind.  "It  is  written"  was  sanction  enough  for  any 
opinion.  The  dominance  of  the  religious  motive  during 
a  thousand  years  of  European  history  helped  to  stamp 
upon  the  peoples  from  whom  we  derive  our  civilization 
this  character  of  naif  acceptance  of  whatever  seemed 
to  bear  the  imprint  of  authority.  The  sceptic  was  next 
thing  to  a  heretic.  Instead  of  being  a  guide  to  the 
truth  he  was  thought  of  as  a  perverter  of  the  truth. 

It  is  only  within  the  memory  of  some  of  us  that  the 
absoluteness  of  the  law  of  evidence  has  come  to  be  ac- 
cepted as  a  standard  by  which  historians  were  pre- 
pared to  stand  or  fall,  and  the  process  is  still  far  from 
being  completed.  There  still  lingers  in  men's  minds  the 
ancient  dread  of  free  inquiry,  lest  by  the  way  some 
precious  illusions  be  dissipated,  some  useful  restraints 


HISTORY  IN  THEOLOGICAL  STUDY    319 

be  relaxed,  some  hallowed  traditions  be  dispelled. 
Still  we  find  men  who  should  be  leaders  in  thought 
using  their  minds  freely  up  to  a  certain  point  and  there 
halting  and  hesitating  for  fear  of  offending  some  an- 
cient prejudice  or  encouraging  too  much  a  dangerous 
spirit  of  criticism.  We  find  scholars  using  their  learn- 
ing and  their  skill  in  finding  ways  of  going  around  the 
simple  conclusions  of  science  and  of  common  sense, 
working  out  a  new  scholasticism  to  take  the  place  of 
the  older  ones  they  have  renounced.  Against  this 
tendency  there  is  no  better  corrective  than  the  prac- 
tice of  weighing  the  kind  of  evidence  on  which  all  his- 
torical conclusions  must,  in  the  last  resort,  be  based. 
Historical  evidence  rests  entirely  upon  human  foun- 
dations. The  historical  student  is  constantly  in  the 
attitude  of  a  judge  in  a  court  of  law.  No  matter  what 
the  subject  or  the  nature  of  the  trial,  the  decisions  of 
the  judge  depend  wholly  upon  the  testimony  of  human 
witnesses.  Every  document  produced  in  the  court  is 
the  work  of  human  hands  and  represents  human  pur- 
pose. The  validity  of  a  will,  for  example,  depends  upon 
the  genuineness  of  signatures,  the  capacity  of  the  testa- 
tor, his  freedom  from  alien  influence,  his  ownership  of 
the  property  he  wishes  to  dispose  of,  and  all  these 
things  must  be  certified  to  by  oral  or  written  evidence 
equally  human  in  its  character.  If  the  will  comes  to 
trial  in  a  court  all  suppositions,  all  personal  considera- 
tions are  rigidly  excluded;  only  that  which  is  a  matter 
of  human  certainty  is  admitted.  If,  as  sometimes  hap- 
pens, a  witness  demands  especial  consideration  be- 
cause the  truth  has  been  revealed  to  him  by  a  special 


320  LEARNING  AND  LIVING 

divine  inspiration,  the  court  rejects  his  claim  with  a 
cruel  indifference.  It  calls  him  down  from  his  superior 
height  to  the  common  level  of  human  experience,  or 
throws  out  his  testimony  as  irrelevant  to  the  case. 

The  same  rule  holds  for  the  historical  student,  and 
the  moment  he  departs  from  it  he  ceases  to  be  a  stu- 
dent of  history  and  becomes  something  else.  The 
temptation  to  the  theologian  under  these  circum- 
stances is  to  become  a  miracle-monger,  to  play  with 
the  alluring  devices  which  in  that  half  world  between 
fact  and  fancy  where  children  in  all  ages  have  de- 
lighted to  dwell,  take  the  place  of  rule  and  law.  It  is 
then  the  cruel  function  of  the  historian  to  recall  him, 
if  he  can,  to  the  order  of  the  court  whose  jurisdiction 
they  would  both  acknowledge,  the  court  of  sound 
science  and  sound  reason.  But  here  I  anticipate  an  ob- 
jection. It  will  be  said  that  this  kind  of  a  judgment 
must  necessarily  partake  of  the  frailty  of  all  human 
things,  that  this  sanction  lacks  that  certainty  for 
which  the  theologian  is  seeking  and  which  he  thinks  he 
can  find  in  the  higher  testimonies  of  emotional  ex- 
perience. The  reply  to  this  is  a  full  confession.  The 
evidence  of  history  is  as  far  from  being  absolutely  cer- 
tain as  is  the  evidence  in  a  court  of  law,  just  as  far,  but 
no  farther.  Every  lawyer  knows,  and  every  plain 
thinking  man  knows  too,  that  every  decision  of  a 
court,  no  matter  how  overwhelming  the  evidence  on 
which  it  rests,  is  subject  to  the  possibility  of  error.  We 
acknowledge  this  and,  in  so  far  as  we  are  a  law-abiding 
folk,  we  accept  the  result  and  govern  ourselves  ac- 
cordingly. It  is  only  in  communities  where  the  sense 


HISTORY  IN  THEOLOGICAL  STUDY    321 

of  law  is  but  feebly  developed  that  an  aggrieved  party 
expresses  his  criticism  of  society  by  shooting  the 
judge.  Ordinarily  we  say  "We  have  done  our  best; 
the  safety  of  society  demands  that  we  now  go  on  as  if 
the  decision  uttered  forth  indeed  the  voice  of  God." 

So  it  is  with  the  decisions  of  the  historical  student. 
He  knows  that  they  are  fallible,  as  are  all  human 
things;  but  he  knows  also  that  it  is  in  the  best  interest 
of  true  science  that  they  shall  be  accepted  until  further 
evidence  shall  be  produced  of  such  superior  weight  that 
it  will  correct  their  error.  What  he  insists  upon  is  that 
this  new  evidence  shall  be  of  the  same  kind  as  that 
which  has  been  proved  insufficient.  Because  some 
human  evidence  has  been  proved  faulty  he  will  not 
permit  a  resort  to  any  other  kind.  He  will  only  demand 
that  his  rule  shall  be  more  carefully  or  more  thoroughly 
enforced.  That  is  the  attitude  of  every  rational  his- 
torian. Not  miracles  nor  inspirations,  nor  revelations, 
nor  the  dictations  of  any  authority  whatsoever,  but 
more  documents  and  better  authenticated  ones  are 
what  he  must  have. 

And  then  —  Ah  yes,  what  then?  —  then  he  prays 
for  ever  greater  learning,  ever  wider  knowledge  and 
ever  clearer  insight  so  to  interpret  the  witness  of  these 
documents  that  his  conclusions  shall  represent  not 
merely  the  closest  fidelity  to  the  rules  of  law,  but  also 
the  largest  and  finest  sense  of  the  claims  of  equity. 
For  after  all  the  historian  cannot  forget  that  he  too  is 
living  in  the  present  and  has  a  present  task  to  do. 
When  all  the  work  of  collection  and  comparison  has 
been  done  —  if  that  ever  could  be  done  —  there  still 


322  LEARNING  AND  LIVING 

remains  the  more  engaging,  more  difficult  and  more 
rewarding  task  of  interpretation.  It  is  here  that  the 
historian  has  most  often  proved  recreant  to  the  great 
trust  he  has  assumed  when  he  has  undertaken  to  pre- 
sent the  record  of  the  past  for  the  instruction  of  the 
present.  For  it  is  in  the  work  of  interpretation  above 
all  that  he  is  in  danger  of  forgetting  the  high  stand- 
ards of  fidelity  to  his  sources  which  he  has  in  theory 
adopted.  Standards  there  must  be.  Without  them 
interpretation  would  be  only  guesswork,  a  haphazard 
stringing  together  of  unrelated  episodes. 

Think  only  for  a  moment  of  what  is  going  to  happen 
with  the  records  of  the  present  struggle  among  the 
states  of  Europe.  Already  the  volume  of  writings  as 
to  its  nearer  and  remoter  causes,  its  diplomacy,  its 
military  and  its  economic  aspects,  the  possibilities  of 
settlement,  its  influence  upon  world  politics  and  world 
trade,  has  become  enormous  beyond  the  possibility  of 
mastery  by  any  one  mind.  An  immense  proportion  of 
this  material  will  become  valueless  when  the  outcome 
of  the  war  is  determined.  Whatever  has  been  written 
to  inflame  passion,  to  excite  sympathy  or  to  .arouse 
loyalty  will  soon  pass  over  into  the  mass  of  the  ephem- 
eral. When  I  hear  an  orator  say  of  some  phase  of  this 
conflict  "Never  again,"  I  can  only  smile  to  think  how 
short  that  "never"  may  be.  Rumor  has  it  that  al- 
ready (1916)  all  sailings  to  Europe  are  booked  for 
months  ahead  after  the  termination  of  the  war.  Then 
will  begin  the  readjustment,  not  only  of  the  material 
relations  of  the  contending  parties,  but  of  the  judg- 
ments formed  under  the  stress  of  conflict.  Then,  and 


HISTORY  IN  THEOLOGICAL  STUDY    323 

then  only,  can  the  work  of  interpretation  by  the  true 
historian  begin,  and  it  will  be  a  generation  after  that 
before  his  perspective  can  be  restored  to  something 
like  its  normal  range. 

I  have  mentioned  standards — with  some  hesitation 
and  with  great  reserves.  When  one  has  spent  one's  life 
trying  to  avoid  hasty  and  insufficient  interpretations 
of  history,  one  is  pretty  sure  to  become  more  than 
cautious  as  to  what  standards  one  may  safely  follow. 
And  here,  I  think,  is  a  field  for  the  theologian.  If  he  is 
bound  to  deny  himself  the  luxury  of  speculative  or 
emotional  intrusions  into  the  area  of  the  historian,  he 
is  within  his  rights  when  he  makes  use  of  the  historian 
as  a  furnisher  of  material  for  his  own  analysis.  As 
theologian  he  may  properly  have  his  own  theory  of 
the  universal  order.  When  then  he  applies  himself  to 
the  interpretation  of  history  he  has  a  right  to  think 
in  terms  of  this  theory.  Indeed,  as  a  theologian,  he 
cannot  do  otherwise.  It  is  his  function  to  justify  the 
ways  of  God  to  men,  and,  conversely  it  is  his  privilege 
to  harmonize  the  ways  of  men  with  God. 

It  has  been  one  of  the  canons  of  the  modern  historical 
school  that  History  must  not  be  treated  as  the  hand- 
maid of  anything.  By  that  was  meant  that  the  study 
of  history  must  not  be  perverted  to  the  service  of  any 
theories  or  causes  whatever.  Its  record  must  be  read 
and  studied  for  itself;  its  evidence  must  be  weighed  on 
its  merits,  and  its  sequences  of  cause  and  effect  must 
be  established  in  accordance  with  this  evidence.  Noth- 
ing has  contributed  more  effectively  to  the  amazing 
success  of  modern  historical  science  than  this  inflexible 


324  LEARNING  AND  LIVING 

rule.  Without  it  History  could  never  have  held  its  own 
in  comparison  with  the  other  subjects  of  academic  re- 
search. The  ancient  jibe,  that  History  was  one  half 
guesses  and  the  other  half  lies  owed  its  origin  to  viola- 
tions of  this  saving  limitation. 

And  yet,  on  the  other  hand,  no  rational  historian  has 
ever  forgotten  that  no  science  stands  by  itself  alone. 
Every  science  has  its  own  material  and  its  own  method, 
and  it  is  right  in  jealously  guarding  these  against  en- 
croachment  and   against  misappropriation,   but   the 
larger  interpretations  of  every  science  are  not  the  affair 
of  its  votaries  alone.  They  belong  to  the  whole  world 
of  thinking  men,  and  often  they  are  best  secured 
through  the  activities  of  men  to  whom  the  detail  of 
the  special  science  is  unfamiliar.    Often  too  these  in- 
terpretations undertaken  by  specialists  have  proved 
specially  disappointing  and  misleading.    Who,  for  ex- 
ample would  regard  the  alleged  phenomena  of  psychic 
communication  as  having  received  any  special  illu- 
mination through  the  interpretations  of  Oliver  Lodge 
the  physicist  or  of  William  James  the  psychologist? 
To  this  world-wide  range  of  interpretation  the  his- 
torian must  submit,  and  among  other  interpreters  he 
must  expect  that  the  theologian  will  claim  his  turn. 
He  will  take  his  chance  in  the  serene  consciousness 
that  the  material  which  he  offers  has  been  presented  in 
accordance  with  a  sound  scientific  method.   The  his- 
torian stakes  his  reputation  on  this  soundness  of  pro- 
cedure.   Is  the  theologian  prepared  to  do  the  same? 
The  historian  confesses,  as  we  have  seen,  that  his  re- 
sults do  not  conform  to  any  absolute  standard  of  cer- 


HISTORY  IN  THEOLOGICAL  STUDY    325 

tainty.  The  best  he  can  say  is  that  they  represent  a 
high  degree  of  probability.  Is  the  theologian  ready  to 
make  a  similar  admission?  If  he  is,  then  the  way  is 
prepared  for  a  harmonious  cooperation  of  the  two 
sciences  with  their  different  materials  and  different 
methods  in  an  ever  advancing  comprehension  of  the 
mystery  of  human  life.  History  will  serve  Theology, 
not  as  the  slave  serves  the  master,  but  as  the  hand 
serves  the  eye  and  the  eye  the  hand.  And  Theology 
will  serve  History  by  holding  before  it  an  interpreta- 
tion without  which  its  own  service  to  mankind  must 
always  remain  barren  and  incomplete. 


PRINTED  AT 

THE  HARVARD  UNIVERSITY  PRESS 
CAMBRIDGE,  MASS.,  U.S.A. 


BWffl  fit  I  -• 


45  FOURTH  AVE. 

New  York  City  3.  GRamercy  5-8354 

W.  Hunt  Out.Ql.Pnnt  Boc 


